Milk and Honey
by TheAtlantisGirl
Summary: When one of Arthur's closest friends is called home to Celtica in Gaul and the knights follow their brother. However, they are pulled into a civil war that is laying waste to the native people. A sense of honor and duty force the knights to aid a charming young woman, who has been sentenced to death. A pretty, honorable woman that catches the eye of a certain knight. HIATUS
1. The Homecoming

}{-Milk and Honey-}{

Gallius walked briskly beside Arthur with the other knights following close at their heels. They were all menacing in their own ways. Even Gallius, who stuck out like a sore thumb with his white-blonde hair, fair skin and stormy blue eyes. Each of the knights had darker hair, except Gawain, whose hair was a mixture of shades. They each had their own look, dressed a certain way and carried themselves a differently, but everyone knew who they were; the infamous Sarmatian knights.

At least, most of them were. Arthur and Gallius were Romans, stationed to fight alongside and command the Sarmatian knights. Arthur was commander in chief and Gallius his second in command. Though Lancelot, who strode along on Arthur's other side, argued otherwise. Lancelot and Arthur were friends. Better friends than Gallius and Arthur. Gallius was more suited to Gawain and Galahad's presence then the haughty, arrogant Lancelot.

They had been summoned to a nearby Roman post in Gaul, close to the Andes mountains as they were traveling to their predestined post in Brition. Or rather, Gallius had been summoned by the Roman commander who now ruled over this land. He had been born here. It was his home and he was asked to return for a specific reason, one he had neglected to inform the others about when they had decided to detour with him.

"This commander, Gallius," Arthur side glanced at Gallius, "you trust him?"

"Not particularly, no." Gallius replied honestly. He had never liked the man; Marcellus. He was arrogant like Lancelot with a temper that matched Bors' and all the authority of Arthur. He was trouble and so were his men. Gallius looked to his right and spotted the stares of the Roman soldiers. He bowed his head in greeting and they bowed back, acknowledging his and Arthur's authority. A dark thought plagued his mind as they continued to walk the streets of the small Roman post. The looks that were shot towards the others, the Sarmatian knights, were of a different kind of acknowledgment; disgust, loathing, judgement.

"Not too fond of foreigners, I suppose." Bors called up to the front of the group where he walked alongside a larger man, Dragonet. "Gettin' a lot of dirty looks. More than usual from Romans."

"The only reason they do not stare at me the same is because I joined the Roman army. To them, Romans only care about Romans. If I did not have my title, their stares would be cast in my direction as well." Gallius explained as he noticed a few of the towns people shooting dirty looks his way. He was a hero to Romans, but a traitor to his own people. He had given up being a Celtic Gaul and had become Roman instead.

"Seems you have others whose hatred runs deeper." Arthur's eyes betrayed his voice. His eyes expressed sympathy and understanding. Gallius nodded his head in silent acceptance. They're hatred was why he left. He had desired to start over and had somehow found his way to Arthur and his knights.

"Gallius! Sir Gallius!" A voice called from somewhere behind them as footsteps followed. The group halted and turned, making a hole for the man to approach. He was small in frame, thin arms and legs. Gallius recognized him. He knew him as a boy.

"Accalon." Gallius greeted with a smile, looking down at the man.

"Welcome! Elder Gereon is awaiting you, sirs, in the hall." Accalon announced and motioned for them to follow him.

"What of Rhos?" Gallius asked as he and the others followed behind the frail man.

"Being spoken to by the elders now." Accalon stole a glance over his shoulder. Gallius didn't like the way he had spoken. As though something bad was happening. "Though we cannot be sure for how long Rhos will remain there being reprimanded by them. **Again.** Done a lot of good for us, Rhos has. The only voice speaking for the people around here lately. Damn shame the elders are trying to snuff her out."

"And what, pray tell, do you mean by that?" Gallius' voice turned stern. His eyes grew hard and he stared the man down until he was sure the man regretted every breath he took.

"Forgive me, sir. But your sister," Accalon stopped and turned to look at Gallius and the others, "she never did exactly take kindly to being put in her place or being told to follow the laws. Especially not Roman laws that the elders back without question out of fear."

Gallius stared at the man for a long while as he tried to process what he had been told. Accalon realized what the problem was.

"You have been gone a long time, Gallius." Accalon's voice grew soft as they approached the doors to the Main Hall. He turned and looked at the man he had once known a long time ago. "A lot has changed. Please wait here while I see if they are ready for you."

Accalon disappeared behind the heavy wooden doors, closing it after him. Gallius looked around the Main Hall and noticed that it had changed. He silently wondered just how much had changed after so many years.

"You have a sister." Arthur challenged as Gallius looked back to him and the others. Gallius could see that Arthur was displeased and surprised. "Why have you not said anything before?"

"Yeah, she a heifer or somethin'?" Bors asked and then mooed, making the insult more complete. Lancelot, Galahad and Gawain laughed quietly at the joke, but Gallius was not smiling.

"See for yourself, Bors." Gallius nodded his head behind the knights to where his sister had stepped out from. She quietly closed the door behind her and rested her back against it, sighing heavily. She opened her eyes and stared up at the ceiling, hair falling about her shoulders like fine spun silk. It was the same white-blonde as her brothers; smooth, soft and full. It made the sapphire colored dress she wore glow like a gem under the moonlight. Feeling eyes on her, she turned her head to the left and caught sight of the knights. Her eyes were like shards of those same gems, deep rich blue, that pierced through the men.

"Most certainly not a heifer." Gawain breathed out as they all observed her. Gallius made to walk over to her, but she shook her head and motioned with a hand to stay put. Her eyes darted around the room, seeing several Roman soldiers. Gallius tracked her eyes and then looked to Arthur, who had seen the same. The Roman soldiers watched Rhoswen carefully like a lion readying to pounce on prey. She pushed herself from the door and strode towards her brother and the knights, not bothering to stop to speak to them. Instead, her hand took Dagonet's, since he was the closet to her path. She pressed a piece of parchment there and walked off without a second thought, feet padding away into nothing as she left the Main Hall.

Dagonet met Gallius' gaze and raised the hand that held the note, reading it carefully.

 _It is not safe here. Leave now while you can._

Dagonet handed the note to Gallius, whose eyes scanned it over several times. He handed it to Arthur, who also read it. Arthur looked to Gallius and then to the rest of his knights. How much danger had they walked into? First Accalon warned Gallius that things had changed and now a note from his sister telling them to leave while they could.

"I don't like this." Arthur announced gently, looking around the Main Hall at the Roman soldiers that circled like hawks. The knights also surveyed the room in preparation for whatever may come. A door opened and Accalon stepped out.

"The elders will see you now." He announced and held the door open for them. As they walked by, Accalon's eyes held Gallius'. He gently took hold of Gallius' arm, "She is waiting in the gardens outside the wall. Take the stable route. No one will see you."

Gallius nodded in understanding and walked into the room. Accalon closed the door behind them. The elders sat in their seats in a crescent before them. They were all older, not so much simply old. Gallius recognized almost none of them.

"Ah Gallius!" A man named Gereon stood up from his seat and briskly walked to greet him. He took his arm, hand on his forearm and shook in common greeting. "How marvelous it is that you came!"

"It is nice to see you return home." A woman spoke up from her seat. Gallius nodded at her, recognizing her as the village healer. He could not remember her name, but he remembered her face. She had aged, but her hair still held its auburn color and her eyes still glowed green.

"I received your letter and came as soon as I could. My commander, Artorius Castus, and my comrades came as well." Gallius looked around the room, noticing the same strange look each of the elders gave them. They were not looking at Gallius. They were examining the knights. Eyes moving from one to the next, but ever so slowly like one would examine a fruit to ensure its ripeness. "But that is what you were expecting…"

"Whatever do you mean, Gallius?" Another elder questioned from his seat. He sat on the edge of it, staring at him and the knights. "We only asked for your presence. It is an honor, though, to see the knights of legend."

"Why have you summoned us here?" Gallius was losing patience. All he wanted was to see his sister, ask her what was going on, why she couldn't be seen speaking to him.

"I am afraid," Gereon began and slowly walked back to his seat, "it is the matter of your sister to which we have summoned you."

"Has she done something?" Gallius looked around at them all. The elders laughed, except one; the older woman with auburn hair. Her green eyes bore holes through Gallius.

"She has done many things." A deeper voice than any of the elders possessed spoke up from behind them. Gallius and Arthur exchanged looks at the newcomer, who had entered the room like a snake. He was tall with dark curls and darker eyes.

"Marcellus." Gallius voice went cold at the sight of the commander.

"Ah, young Gallius. Still as pretty as you were when you left. Broke every fair maiden's heart when you did." Marcellus' smile made Gallius uncomfortable. Arthur noticed and moved closer, standing straighter. He was not about to allow anyone to hold power over his men other than himself. "You must be Arthur. We have heard so much about you and your knights here in our little section of the world. Off to Britannia I hear it?"

"Yes, until we received word that Gallius was summoned here." Arthur held no delight in his voice nor his expression. He was conducting business. "What business do you have with my legati?"

"His sister has become a problem. A very severe one at that." Marcellus pushed passed Arthur and Gallius, heading for his seat in the center of the crescent. "She has always been unruly and we had hoped that as she got older she may quiet down, cease in her ways, but instead she has done the opposite."

"I don't understand." Gallius spoke up and knitted his eyebrows together.

"Your sister is rumored to be leading a revolt against us. The elders and myself. We simply cannot sit by and allow that." Marcellus motions to the elders seated on either side of him. "There have been skirmishes over the years as is to be expected from those who cannot see their way of life has ended and a newer, greater one begins."

"My sister? Leading a revolt?" Gallius huffed a laugh. "Are you mad? She is a healer. She tends to the orphans, tends the gardens–"

"Sir, do not insult me." Marcellus demanded attention and respect. "I asked you here as a curtesy to you, your family and to the people."

Arthur understood why the elders had taken to this Roman and why the freefolk had not. Marcellus was very good at this game of wits.

"Your sister has been directly involved in several of these skirmishes. She actively voices her rebellious opinions on the streets, is teaching the young ones to fight–"

"As they should be." Gallius argued, but Marcellus ignored him.

"She has killed several of my men. Good men. She has gone so far as to burn houses, kill horses, anything to get the people rallied against us."

"Against you!" Gallius shouted and pointed an accusing finger at the commander. Despite the commander's age, despite his resume of battles and skills, he was the problem.

"Against _us_." Gereon shouted back and stood from his chair. Gallius snapped his neck to stare at him, eyes blazing. "You wear the same mask of defiance your sister does when she stands before us in this room. It will not be tolerated."

"Gereon, I do believe that is enough." Marcellus turned his head and looked at the head elder. He motions for him to sit and then looked back at Gallius. "These are troubled times. Rome is expanding and the people do not want us here despite our efforts to try and build a better life for them. So long as your sister feeds their fire of hatred for us there will never be peace and blood will run through the streets. Both Roman and Celt."

The hall fell quiet. Gallius breathed heavily through his nose as his eyes scanned the elders from left to right. He searched for sympathy for his sister, for understanding, but there was none. Even the older woman with auburn hair turned her gaze from him, staring down at the floor.

Arthur moved up beside his friend, placing a hand on his shoulder and looked to those who persecuted him with their gaze.

"What do you expect him to do?" Arthur inquired, gently pushing Gallius behind him and off to the side. He was his legati, his second in command. Arthur was commander and Marcellus and the bloody elders could stare at him with their coldhearted gazes as much as they liked.

"We expect nothing." Marcellus answered harmoniously and sat back in his seat. He placed his hands on the ends of the chair's arms. "Again, we have asked him here as a curtesy only. He being the only male in his family alive and she his only kin we felt it polite to inform him of our intentions."

Marcellus reiterated and looked to Gereon, nodding his head at him. Gereon stood from his seat again and walked to a nearby table where a parchment laid out with quill and ink. He picked it up and walked to Marcellus, handing it to him.

"We have a plan to handle your sister." Marcellus announced as he looked over the document.

" **Handle** with my sister?" The words fell from Gallius' lips before he could restrain them. Arthur looked back at him and silently told him to quiet. To let him handle this.

"What are your intentions?" Arthur queried and placed a hand tenderly on the hilt of his sword. It was meant to intimidate, but Marcellus only gave a small humph and smiled. He let his hands and the parchment fall to his lap as he stared out at the men in the room.

"Sarmatian knights. I always heard the generals talking about you back in Rome. A bit of a legend I must say, but to see you now." Marcellus shook his head. "Truly the stuff of legends; strong, resolute, brutish."

Marcellus gave a baleful laugh and leaned back in his seat. His curls bounced as he moved his head, shaking it back and forth.

"Brutish?" Lancelot mimicked and looked to Gallius in mock question.

"Come now. I meant no disrespect. Quite the opposite really. I respect you all very much. Your reputations succeed you." Marcellus pushed himself to the edge of his seat, parchment dancing from hand to hand before him. "No man stronger. No man better to wield a sword than a Sarmatian knight. I am actually quite jealous."

"I will ask again, commander. What are your intentions with Gallius' sister?" Arthur interrupted the game he was playing with his men. Marcellus met his gaze and smirked. He looked down at the parchment in his hands and tapped it against one of his palms.

"We intend to have her wedded." He replied and stood from his seat. His armor clinked and clanged as he moved. His sword bounced as his side. He outstretched the parchment to Arthur, not Gallius, and suddenly the air in the room was so constricted that Gallius could not breathe.

"To whom?" Gallius asked, his voice soft, but heated. Marcellus clicked his tongue against his teeth and smirked at Arthur.

"That is up to your commander, young Gallius." Marcellus placed a hand on Gallius' shoulder. He patted the young man twice and then pushed passed him and Arthur, heading for the door. As he left, Arthur unrolled the document and read. His eyes darted left to right and back again. His breath caught in his throat. He rounded on the elders.

"This is absurd!" Arthur shouted and threw the document to the floor. The knights looked to one another with apprehension. "You truly cannot expect us to abide by this madness. I will not. I cannot."

"Arthur?" Lancelot questioned hesitantly as he moved closer to Arthur's side, awaiting his commander and friend to explain what was going on. Arthur ignored him and the others. Lancelot looked to Gallius, who had become far too quiet. He met Lancelot's gaze. It was bad. Gallius knew it was bad. Marcellus never played fair; not with anything.

"You must and you will. It has been accepted by your leaders, Artorius Castus." Gereon pointed to the document at Arthur's feet. "As it is their signatures there at the bottom of the parchment. One of your knights, who ride with Roman colors, is demanded to wed Lady Rhoswen within a fortnight to bring Romans and Celts together."

"You wish to claim one of us? Like a slave?" Galahad was very confused, very taken aback. No one had ever been so forward. Not even the wenches at the taverns nor the fair maidens they had come across on their journey from the east.

"You misunderstand. We wish for one of you to claim her." Gereon turned away from them and walked back to his seat. He sat down and laced his hands in his lap. "We merely seek a marriage of convenience."

"You seek to control her." Dagonet's voice surprised the knights. He stood straight with hand on the hilt of his sword and eyes hard, pressing into the elders. "One of us to be the cage so your dove may no longer fly so freely."

"Basically we are to be her nanny." Gawain grumbled under his breath and crossed his arms over his chest.

"No." Gallius shook his head. The knights looked to him and saw the cold look that entered his eyes. The stormy blue raged and burned like a great cataclysm. They were his brothers and Gallius would die fighting to save any one of them, lay down his sword for any one of them, but to have them wed his sister… they were Sarmatian. Known for their ferocity in battle with a reputation for violence even though most rumors were false. But he had seen the way they acted, seen how they treated women, seen everything over the years. He wasn't sure whether this was a blessing in disguise or punishment.

Gallius met Gereon's stare in a silent battle of wills. Gereon did not falter in his seat. Instead he raised his chin to try and assert some kind of authority.

"Your sister, Gallius, has created a tricky situation that we must remedy quickly, quietly and permanently." Gereon spoke firmly. "We thought… we had hoped that with time and proper training that she would calm, but she has become progressively worse. We must teach her, change her–"

"No. You wish to **break** her!" Gallius felt a fire burn in his core. His lips stretched tightly against his teeth as he seethed. "You want one of the great Sarmatian knights to be her master; to break her as they break their great beasts."

"I want her to know her place before it gets her killed!" Gereon's composure was gone and replaced with fury. He shot up from his seat and glared at the younger man. "A husband, a strong and firm husband, would do just that! That girl–"

"Your daughter!" Gallius rages, face reddening as the hands he clenched went white at the knuckles. Gereon flinched. Arthur had seen it and so had the woman with auburn hair. She narrowed her eyes at Gereon and then caught sight from the corner of her gaze that Arthur was staring at her.

Arthur's gaze turned to Lancelot, then Galahad and Gawain, Bor and Dagonet. No one knew this man was Gallius' father. No one knew Rhoswen was his sister. No one knew anything about Gallius they realized.

"She is your daughter, father." Gallius' voice quaked. "Why do you not stand by her? Why do you not fight for her?"

"Because she is just like her mother. She refuses change and instead seeks tradition where none can survive. She challenges authority, **my** authority, daily and in front of our people. She attacks the soldiers, steals from the grain houses–"

"She refuses to be subservient. She refuses to give up on her people. You wish a husband who has known battle to settle her, put her in her place either by example or by the back of his hand." Gallius shakes his head at the man he had once looked up to with such admiration. "Are you Celt? …or are you Roman?"

Gereon fell silent. He lifted his chin in disdain and glared at his son.

"Certainly not Celt." A voice, softer and higher in pitch, echoed about the hall. The woman with auburn hair stood up from her seat. "But not quite Roman either. Spineless swine."

"Hold your tongue woman or else–"

"Or else what?" She snapped and spun on her heels to face him. "You will have me disappear like all the others? You wouldn't dare, you old fool. You're all a lot of cowards."

"I blame you, woman!" Gereon pointed an accusing finger at her as she stepped down carefully from where the seats sat raised above in the hall.

"Oh! Rhoswen has been a fighter since the day my sister bore her. A real woman. A real Celt." She waved his words off and moved closer to Gallius. She pressed her hands to each side of his cheeks and smiled, crow's-feet pulling at the corners of her eyes. "Praise the gods you and your sister did not turn out like the rest of us, Gale."

"Vayle?" Gallius questioned, finally recognizing her. She looked much different from when he had met her as a boy. He had only ever seen her twice. Once at her wedding day and then again when Rhoswen was born.

"When you are finished, come see me. Same place as always." She let her hands fall and looked around at the knights. She acknowledged each of them and then her eyes fell on Arthur. She sized him up and then looked through them all to the door. "Your sister will have left a trail of Roman guts leading the way."

She winked at them, relishing the frustration Gereon radiated and headed out of the hall. Gallius looked back to his father and stood straighter.

"Hear me now, boy." Gereon shook his head at him as the other elders stood from their seats as though rallying to his aid. "Get control of your sister or she will pay a heavy price. Marcellus will see to it. He always does."

Gereon and the other elders exited through another door. The door closed with an echoing murmur as Gallius faced his brothers.

"What a bloody mess." Bors scathed and shook his head, running a hand over his mouth. Gawain nodded his head in agreement and looked to Galahad.

"What are we going to do, Arthur?" Lancelot hissed, eyes darting from his commander to the door the elders exited through. "You cannot ask one of us to marry a girl we know nothing about to save her from some pitiful domestic dispute."

"No I cannot. I will not. As I told the elders and commander Marcellus." Arthur's eyes turned to Gallius, apologetically. Gallius nodded and licked his lips as he tried to thin of alternatives. He looked to his right and spotted the parchment still sitting on the floor. He walked to it, picked it up and read it. He froze. His heart stopped. In the final lines of the agreement were this:

 _If not married within a fortnight after the decree is finalized, whether all parties have acknowledged the legitimacy of the decree or not, then Rhoswen Caratacos, first of her name, daughter of Celyne and Gereon Caratacos, and chosen envoy of the Celestials, will be forced to forfeit her life and take to the pyre in the center of the city. At which time, she will be burned alive for heresy, rebellion, rebel raising, theft, sabotage, promiscuity, and murder. As is decreed by the elders of Caleti, the Roman commander Marcellus, and Rome itself._

Gallius' hand clenched around the parchment, creasing and crinkling it. He closed his eyes and tightened his jaw, trying to keep himself under control.

"I know what it says, Gallius." Arthur's voice called to him from where he stood with the other knights. "We won't let her perish at their hands. You have my solemn word."

"They will burn her alive, Arthur." Gallius turned and faced them. "I have seen it done before."

This, Arthur knew. Gallius had told him the story. Just once after a long night of battle and after many more drinks. Gallius had told him of what had happened that night to make him join the Roman army.

"We won't allow it to happen again." Arthur assured him once more and Gallius accepted it. He released his hold on the parchment, but kept it in hand. Gallius made a mixed sound of laughter and defeat.

"I should have never left her here alone." He shook his head at himself and handed the parchment to Arthur for safe keeping.

"This is not your fault." Arthur tried to console, but Gallius wanted to hear none of it. Arthur looked to his knights, his friends, seeing the looks each one of them wore.

"Is there nothing that can be done?" Gawain spoke first of the knights. He looked around at the others, hoping someone had an idea. He couldn't imagine being forced to marry his brother's sister, but yet he couldn't bear to see an innocent girl burned alive. "Arthur, can you not speak to someone in Rome and demand this be withdrawn?"

"I have no power here, Gawain." Arthur explained and looked to the others. He raised the contract and shook it. "This states explicitly that she needs to marry a knight. Not one you, not a Sarmatian, but a knight."

"So we will find her a knight. One of decent birth that can take her far from here, far from the elders where she can live comfortably." Lancelot thought aloud, but Gallius had begun shaking his head before the words were even spoken fully.

"Marcellus is no fool. He knew exactly whom I rode with; the legendary Sarmatian knights." Gallius ran a hand over the back of his head, rubbing his tense neck.

"He did not know we would be riding with you here though. He assumed you would come alone." Galahad pipped up from where he stood beside Gawain.

"Doesn't matter. He knew of you lot long before he knew Rhoswen had a brother who fought beside you. Now he won't settle for anything less." Gallius looked back at them and crossed his arms tightly before him. His armor groaned as it stretched over his muscular chest. "He assumes you can deliver what he seeks."

"And what exactly is that again?" Bors' tone is sardonic as he cocks an eyebrow. "Because it seems to me that he is assumin' one of us will become a husband to her and beat her into submission."

"That's exactly what he wants. Rhoswen is a rampant beast that needs a master. However, you all also have your titles. More famous in these parts than any other knights that may travel here. My sister has her own title, one that the common people respect and admire, but if she were to wed a Sarmatian knight the elders would have a solid position with the Roman faction that has taken over these lands." Gallius shook his head again and then looked to Arthur. "I must speak with her."

"Of course." Arthur nodded once. "We will go with you. Meet this woman that has been thrusted upon us so unwillingly."

"I do apologize." Gallius felt a sense of remorse. This was none of their problem and yet because they were associated with himself and his sister, they were now dragged kicking and screaming into it all.

"It's not your fault, Gallius." Arthur placed a hand on the man's shoulder. "You did not know what the elders had planned."

"But I knew they were planning _something_." Gallius ran a hand over his mouth and then laid it back over his chest. "They have hated her since birth. Striven to see her in ruin all her life."

"Why?" Dagonet asked carefully, earning the attention of all the knights. Arthur questioned his men's curiosity and then dismissed it. They were all honorable men and would see to it this woman, Gallius' sister, was not harmed.

"Because she does what is right instead of what the elders' desire." Gallius looked away and thought for a moment. He had told Arthur of this, but had never spoken it aloud to the others. Perhaps it was time. "The elders punish her more than me because of our mother. She had been an elder, but had always opposed the favorable rule; defiant, rebellious, a fighter. They burned her at the stake under the pretense of witchcraft when all they really wanted was her to be out of their way. Now that my sister is becoming a similar problem, her removal is more necessary now than ever."

"And this Marcellus leads them? The Romans here at this post and the elders?" Dagonet questioned with a steady eye as his hand that rested on the hilt of his sword gently gripped it. He was usually the quiet observer, but something had stricken him. Gallius guessed his honor, for Dagonet was indeed a very honorable man with good morals and a kind heart; a defender of the downtrodden, a pillar of strength. He was also a fierce warrior. Gallius had always respected him for his good heart and strong swing. It reminded him of his older brother, his blood brother, who had been stricken down years ago when the Romans had first taken hold of their lands.

"Yes. He is a man born of high status in Rome and has always been able to work things in his favor." Gallius tried to hide the bit in his words, but Arthur heard it; sensed it. None of his men, not even Gallius, had respect for the Romans outside of Arthur himself. He was the only man amongst them who had Roman blood coursing through his veins.

"What kind of man is he?" Tristan, an even quieter member of the group questioned from behind tousles of long, dark hair.

"As you saw today, he is adroit in these situations. He is also very cruel and warped. There were stories amongst some of the soldiers when I was little that he had gone through villages in the north and flayed men, woman and children." Gallius' gaze fell away as he remembered the horrors of that time. "He took the children and hung them from the walls of the villages. Cut the heads off the men and put them in pikes. Fed the women to the dogs."

Gallius stopped. Had Marcellus done that here after he had left? Could he have truly been so cruel?

"Gallius?" Arthur noticed Gallius had gone to a dark place. "What else?"

"He cares little for people. Any people. Even his own. Cares even less for troublesome women. Two of his wives went missing on their wedding night and were found the next day floating in the river." Gallius straightened himself and tried to bite his tongue, keeping himself in check. "He fears no consequence for his actions because the people here are too fearful to stand against him. Certainly more so now that the elders stand behind him and his ways."

"All fear him except for your sister." Dagonet rationalized as the hand resting on the hilt of his sword at his side cupped the end a little tighter. Arthur took notice again and looked to Bors. Bors shook his head, begging him not to ask. Dagonet looked to the others and then back at Gallius with a small smile. "That is very admirable of her."

"Or very stupid." Lancelot muttered harshly and shook his head.

"I would very much like to meet her." Arthur announced, ignoring Lancelot once more. Gawain smiled at Gallius reassuringly and then looked to Galahad, who had a soured expression on his face. He elbowed him and Galahad gave a fake smile in response. Bors nodded and looked to Dagonet, who returned his nod with one of his own.

It was a tricky situation they all had found themselves in. It was ludicrous to think that any man could force one of his knights to marry a girl to simply rid of her meddlesome ways. However, she was the sister to one of those very knights, a Roman soldier, his friend, a friend to all of them and if she did not marry a knight she would be put to death in a most gruesome way. How could any of them allow that to happen?

"The elders and Marcellus are trying to make an example of her." Gallius' voice grew small as a dark sorrow overcame his eyes. "Just like they did with my mother. I will do what I must to protect her from them. At all costs."

They all knew what he meant. Gallius was ready to fight the whole damned city to protect his sister from harm if need be. No matter who stood in his way, including his brothers here that stood before him and alongside him through whatever fight. He would combat them if he had to. He would kill them if there was no other way.

"She is my blood; my little sister." His voice was so soft that he almost didn't believe he had said it aloud.

"Then let us speak with your little sister, Gallius." Arthur met Gallius gaze, assuring him silently that they would remedy the situation. That there would be no need to fight any of them. "Where would she be now?"

"Accalon said she was tending to the gardens outside the walls." Gallius replied and looked to Bors who had scoffed.

"Who the Hell is this girl? A bloody saint?" Bors growled gently, somewhat playfully, but earned a stern look from Dagonet nonetheless.

"Please. My sister is a good person. Make no mistake. She is not some hideous, vile beast as the elders would make people believe nor a cruel hearted witch." Gallius looked around at them all; one to the next. "The issues here are rooted in long turmoil and bad blood that stretches back far beyond our time. Please do not make assumptions of her yet. Get to know her first and you will understand. It is actually rather hard not to find yourself fond of her. She is unlike anyone you have ever met."

"Well, if she is anything like you, Gale, then I am sure we will like her too." Galahad smiled at him and looked to Gawain on his left. Both of them had already decided on who Gallius' sister was and what she was like. If Gallius was fond of her, then they would be too. Gawain smiled at Galahad and turned to Gallius.

"She is your sister," he began, "and we trust your word more so than any Roman or elder. Neither this Marcellus or Gereon could convince us otherwise."

"Then it is settled." Arthur announced. "Lead us to her so that we may all speak to her."


	2. They Are Delicate

Thank you to Loverofcreepythings and Josje for your reviews! As well, I would also like to thank those of your who have favorited and followed this story! I plan to continue this to the end. I have many chapters waiting for upload. I would post them all at once, but this is in case I get a bout of writer's block. A bit of a net to fall back on.

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}{-Milk and Honey-}{

Rhoswen knelt on the cold, hard earth as her fingers worked carefully around the strawberries. She had already been at the other section of the garden, tending to the fruit and the vegetables. Her next move would be the herbs. For the most part, the vegetation took care of itself, but now and again it need a tender hand to help it along.

It was exactly the distraction she needed today. Things were getting worse and quickly. She knew that, saw that. They were on the verge of a civil war and the elders sensed it. Marcellus wished it. If they rose up, he would tear them down; destroy them, eradicate them. She had not expected _this_ though. Even if it was only a ploy; a decoy.

She was being forced into marriage to a knight; a man who had seen battle so that he may teach her a lesson when she stepped out of line. She expected this sort of thing from Marcellus, a man who believed himself better and higher than everyone else; especially women. But, not from her father, Gereon, a true Celt. Women were strong in their culture, not weak, not subservient and yet here he was trying to make her be something she could not. He hated that she had no respect for the elders, that she openly slandered them before the people, called them cowards. She was very much like her mother; freedom or death. There was no in between, no leeway. He couldn't have that. He and the elders needed the Romans now. They had control… of everything.

"Damn them both…!" Rhoswen cursed under her breath and lifted her head to the sun. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, sighing heavily.

"Why did you not tell me how bad things had gotten?" A voice called out to her as she heard footsteps approaching. She spotted a glimpse of white-blonde hair. No one except for her and Vayle ventured outside the walls anymore. It wasn't safe. Not since the Romans conquered them. Rhoswen and Vayle were both from a different age though; true Celtic women of Gaul. It was the one good thing her father had ever done for her; train her to be strong so she wouldn't be afraid. It was a blessing and a curse he had soon discovered too late.

"I did not know they had asked you to come." She spoke, not needing to turn around to know who was standing behind her. She sat back on her heels and looked around at her handy work. "I am sorry. They should not have done that."

"I'm glad they did." Gallius replied and placed a hand on the hilt of his sword, resting it there. He watched her carefully. She cared little for the dress she wore that was now covered at the knees by dirt and grass. Her nails held beneath them dark rich earth, hands covered in soil. She looked so much like their mother; a tiger from a distant land that was magical to watch, but ferocious when threatened.

"Why?" Rhoswen questioned without looking to him. She tugged on the strawberry plants, spotting several small red berries.

"I would never have known how bad things were here if they hadn't." Gallius explained. He didn't understand why she pushed him away. Why did she not want him to know, to help? "You never talk to me anymore."

"You are never around to talk to anymore and writing you has proven worthless." Rhoswen countered and continued to work. Her eyes darted to him, a dark emotion behind her blue eyes. Then she turned away and ignored his presence as well as the presence of the other knights that all stood watching her. Gallius spotted two Roman soldiers walking by, shield and javelin in hand. He watched them with a steady eye. The Roman soldier caught sight of Arthur ad the knights, whispering amongst themselves as they passed by.

"Be careful of that one! She's a bit of a floozy, but she'll sooner rip your cock off then give you proper head! A true viper!" One of the soldier's shouted and they both laughed, walking away. Rhoswen shut her eyes tightly, biting her tongue as hard as she could. Arthur looked to the soldiers, then to his brothers. They were all rowdy, loud, and at times lechers in good humor, but they still had respect and honor.

"Might be able to work her if you drag her to the woods. Fighters these ones. Battle ya right till they're screamin' for more then they won't stop." The other soldier called out, the two laughing again.

"Why don't you come here and say that to my bloody face!? I'll gladly remove both heads from yourselves and feed them to the dogs!" Rhoswen shouted back, standing up from the ground with her hands clenched at her sides. The soldiers' laughing ceased as they caught sight of her eyes, burning with anger. They quietly talked amongst themselves as they stalked away. Gallius looked back at Rhoswen, who took several deep breaths to try and calm herself. Her chest rose and fell quickly and heavily. She looked over at Gallius, who stared straight at her. They shared a conversation in silence through their stares.

"Now, if only **that** was the worst of it." She sneered and shook her head, returning to her work. Gallius turned his head and watched the soldiers disappear into town and then his gaze fell on Arthur and the others. He met Arthur's stare and shook his head at them. He ran a hand over his mouth and then walked closer to his sister. He gently outstretched a hand to her, placing it on her shoulder.

"I do not need neither yours nor any other's pity or sympathy." Rhoswen growled and worked furiously to pull weeds, brushing his hand away. He took his hand back and looked out over the gardens to inspect the grounds, but his thoughts moved on to the lush vegetation. The plants grew well and looked healthy, obviously her doing.

"You have a green thumb like mother." Gallius played with one of the strawberry plants. His fingers, rough from years of hard work tugged on the small red fruits.

"Careful!" Rhoswen smacked his hand away and looked at him. "They're delicate. You'll break them doing that."

Gallius gave a small laugh and looked back at his brothers, squinting against the light of the sun. He picked up a blade of grass and played with it in his fingers, tilting his head to get a better look at her face. She looked just like mother as well. Bright blue eyes, fair skin, white-blonde hair that almost matched the wheat in summer when the sun hit it just right and she was strong; resilient.

"Why did you not write to me? Tell me what was happening, what they were doing here… what they were doing to you?" He questioned gently as though afraid of her response. She froze for only a moment before continuing to work heatedly. She said nothing, but shook her head. Her hair fell about her face and she quickly tossed it over her shoulder. "Why would you not tell me what father and Marcellus have been up to? That they have been plotting against you? Did you think I would not believe you? That I would stand by father and not you?"

Gallius narrowed his eyes in thought at her and waited patiently.

"You were busy." Her voice was so small. Her eyes darted to the knights, catching the gaze of one in particular. He was tall, broad shouldered with a scar across his left eye. He intimidated her and she did not know why. She was never intimidated. She couldn't be. She had to be the one intimidating others, the men, if she were to survive and lead her people. She looked about the garden and back at the town. "As was I."

Her reply was short and almost rendered him a mute. She looked to him with a small smile. She had not intended to hurt him. She just wasn't that way. However, something welled up inside of him.

"Busy?" He scoffed at her as he shook his head. She turned away from him, hearing the tone in his voice. "You didn't bother to write me because you thought me too busy to listen to your pleas for help? You are my sister, Rhoswen. My only blood. I would have come in a heartbeat."

The knights watched from where they stood; close enough to hear, but far enough to be forgotten. Arthur looked around at his knights. Did they too have family back home? Was there unfinished words, love, pain to be had as these two were expressing? For Arthur, there was only them; these men he had fought beside over the last decade. They were his family.

"They," Rhoswen nodded her head in the direction of the knights that stood watching them and lifted a single digit in their direction, "are your brothers; your family. You have them to worry about, Saxons to fight, lands to explore, damsels to rescue."

She gave a small laugh.

"I am the least of your worries now or at least I should be." She took the back of her hand and rubbed her nose gently. Her eyes turned to the knights again and examined them from head to foot. They stood straight with swords at their hips, each wearing a different garb. She guessed to represent their tribe back home across the Black Sea.

"They're your blood now. I could not write to you, not because of fear or hatred or distrust. You always wanted to be part of something greater and you found it with them. I could not take that from you or you from them." She shook her head and looked over at him. "I couldn't drag you back to here, to this Hell. That's neither fair nor right. You belong with them. Far away from here. Far away from father and the elders and Marcellus."

"Rhoswen." Gallius breathed out as she grabbed hold of the basket she had with her and stood up. He followed her lead. "I should have never left."

"You were right to leave; to escape. You are free from this madness, Gale. Don't you understand?" She brushed off the dirt from her knees and looked him straight on. She shook her head at him, not in anger, but in sadness. He was a good deal taller than her; six-three to her five-eight frame. She was never intimidated by him though. He was too soft, too kind, too much her over-protective older brother. "You escaped. So **go**. Be free little bird. Do not let them bind your wings as they have done to mine."

She smiled at him and placed a hand on his forearm, giving a gentle squeeze. Rhoswen looked to the knights behind and stared at them silently a moment. She searched their expressions, their eyes and then sighed gently. They seemed kind, honorable, and valiant. Her brother fit in perfectly with them. As though he had always meant to be with them. She looked back at Gallius and examined his dress for the first time, giving a small but sad laugh.

"Very Roman." She acknowledged and patted his armored chest. It hurt him. _Very Roman_ … an insult among their people. He looked down at himself and then met her smile again. She was teasing him, he realized.

"Do you think me Roman?" He asked, trepidation lingering in his voice. She stared into his eyes for a long moment and then looked him over again from head to foot and back up. Then she looked into her basket and pulled out the only strawberry that had been worth picking; plump and as red as a rose. She handed it to him and he looked it over, something falling from beneath his shirt sleeve. She took his wrist and tugged it towards her, revealing the bracelet woven from hemp, leather and bone.

"No, Gale. You are Celt." She smiled warmly at her brother. He was wearing a costume, this Roman garb, but he would always be Celt, a man from Gaul. Her fingers played with the bone beads. "You belong to this land as much as I do. Forever and always."

"Forever and always." Gallius repeated her words and tapped a finger on the strawberry; a peace offering. He met her tender stare as she brushed her hair behind her ears, revealing a silver cuff on her left that was etched with ancient markings; markings of an elder.

"I am sorry that you," she looked over at the knights and tried to search for the right thing to say, "that all of you, have been dragged into this. If I had known they would lead you here with such deception, then I would have put an end to it all. This whole thing has gotten far out of hand and I cannot seem to reel it back anymore. They won't let me, I'm afraid. I fear they are out for nothing short of blood. My blood."

"My lady, believe that this is no inconvenience to us any more than a fly is to a horse." Arthur finally spoke up and met her stare. Lancelot stepped forward at Arthur's side with a smirk.

"Yes, do not despair. Rescuing fair maidens from evil men is what we do best." The words sounded rehearsed. Rhoswen wondered how many other girls had heard the same sad line. Gallius made to move, to say something against Lancelot, to chide him for speaking to his sister in such a manner, but Rhoswen stopped him with a gentle touch to the arm.

"I am afraid you are far outmatched here, dear knight." Rhoswen smiled enticingly, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Charm and good looks will get you nowhere as you have seen. Unless your sword strikes sharp and true, I am afraid you will not endure long amongst the woman as fair as I. For we are vipers, as you have heard, bred from wolves, fed on the blood of babes. We aim to maim, in the most demeaning of ways, any man who thinks he worthy enough to share our beds."

Gallius gave a small laugh at the look that crossed Lancelot's face. Lancelot's smirk fell, eyes going blank as well as his mind. He was taken aback by her words. No one, no **woman** had ever spoken to him in such a way before.

"Well she shut him up right quick." Gawain smirked at Lancelot with baby blue eyes that masked his devilish thoughts.

"Not my intention, I assure you. Merely a warning." Rhoswen smiled innocently, examining Gawain with a keen eye. She turned to Gallius and leaned a bit closer, "He reminds me of _him_ a bit."

Gallius let out a hearty laugh, eyes squinting and laugh lines gleaming in the sunlight. He placed an arm around his sister's shoulders and hugged her close.

"Of whom?" Galahad's ears perked and his eyes caught the siblings'.

"Does not matter now." Rhoswen replied gently, a sorrow to her voice that resonated with them and struck them mute. Gallius looked down at her, pain filling his gaze as he released her from his side. Rhoswen brushed a strand of stray hair behind her left ear. The cuff on her ear caught the light, catching the eyes of the knights as well. Arthur caught Gallius eye, asking him silently about the cuff. He had seen the other elders with similar jewelry on their ears, their hands. Arthur's eyes moved to Rhoswen's hands. No rings, no fancy tattooing, just a bracelet that matched Gallius'.

"Arthur and the infamous Sarmatian knights." Rhoswen breathed out as she took their sight in. They were nothing like how she pictured them. At least not all of them. Too clean, too pretty, too genuine and kind. Not at all the image of war-lorn knights, taken from home as babes and raised to be hard warriors; killers. One man stood out amongst them though. The tall man with broad shoulders and finely cut hair so close to his scalp she hardly noticed he had any hair left. He had a scar that lay over his left eye from brow to cheek bone, but a warm hearted smile rested on his lips as his stare held hers. His eyes were such a pale blue she found them to be grey, almost silver when the sunlight hit them right and caused him to squint. Rhoswen stole her stare away from him and readjusted herself, standing straighter.

Men with pretty eyes and kind smiles worried her.

They unnerved her.

Marcellus had been one of those men.

"It is an honor to meet you all. Though, I do wish it were under better circumstances." She tried apologizing again and averted her gaze. She straightened and laced her hands together before herself. Gallius noticed the action and lifted his eyes to Dagonet. He caught Dagonet's stare as he watched Rhoswen with a steady eye, examining the way she held herself; the way she unnerved beneath his heavy stare and intimidating presence. Most usually did. He was a quiet man, a kind man, that kept to himself, kept his thoughts to himself, was the group's healer. He and his sister were very much alike and yet so different.

"That is not your fault." Arthur spoke up again, eyeing Lancelot, who was sulking away with arms crossed over his chest. "You are not the issue here."

"But have you all not heard?" She questioned with mock surprise and placed a hand over her heart.

"Rhoswen, stop the theatrics." Gallius groaned and shut his eyes tightly as though in pain.

"But dear brother, I am a thief and a murderer, a rebel raiser, a fire-starter, and worst of all…" she gave a dramatic pause and took hold of her dress, picking it up in a sultry fashion, "a strumpet."

"At least you haven't lost your sense of humor." Gallius mocked her with a hard stare. She gave a small laugh and switched the basket from her left forearm to her right. Gallius could see pain behind her eyes, but her laugh was genuine. Her joking was natural. She was treading water, but she was not allowing it to drown her.

"Rhoswen the harlot, who tends the gardens, picks strawberries and sends men away, shaking in their boots. Paints a nice picture." Gallius played along and received a good, strong smack to his shoulder. He pressed a hand to the joint and mouthed an "ow," feeling a bruise. "I should have never taught you to swing like that."

Rhoswen winked at him and then laughed.

"Come, you must all be hungry. A journey like yours requires nourishment and rest." She looked to the knights, bowing her head and began to walk away until she heard no footsteps following. She turned to look back at them all and waved, motioning for them to follow her. "Please, follow me. Unless your bellies are full and your feet do not ache?"

She looked to Gallius and then handed him the basket of strawberries. Once he took it, she was gone again and heading for the woods.

"Will there be ale?" Bors asked suddenly, catching the others off-guard. Rhoswen smiled at the husky man, hair cut as finely and as short as his tallest brother. Her eyes met Dagonet's again and she found herself hushed. "Ale? You know? The drink that melts a woman's morals?"

Rhoswen broke contact and looked to Bors.

"I know of the vile liquid you speak of. But no. We have no ale. Instead, we have something stronger; something you might like more." She replied and walked away again towards the woods. Lancelot smacked Bors on the chest, shaking his head at him.

"What? I'm 'ungry and I could use a drink. She's the one offerin' after all." Bors argued against the looks he received. He looked up at Dagonet and did a double take at the look he received. "It's not like I invited myself."

"Come. Let us eat and rest. Then we can talk some more." Gallius looked to Arthur, who nodded at him in agreement. They had all traveled a very long way to get there. Over a week it had taken on horseback and feet. They were indeed tired and hungry and in need of a drink to numb it all.


	3. A Walk Through The Woods

}{-Milk and Honey-}{

The knights followed behind Rhoswen, who led them through the woods. They could hear a waterfall somewhere in the distance. Birds chirped merrily as rabbits and deer gleefully moved about in search of nourishment themselves. Arthur and his knight's kept their eyes on the young woman, who sang softly to herself as she walked along.

She was… interesting and different than others they had come across. They had been lead to believe she was rude, outspoken and deserving of the elders' malice. That was not the case. She spoke up, but only when it appeared that she was provoked. She was a fighter, as Gallius had said on their journey to his home, a fighter and a lover; the best of both worlds. Arthur didn't understand what Gallius had meant at first. Hell, he didn't still, but she certainly wasn't some horrid wretch on a rampage seeking to destroy Marcellus and the elders.

"Your sister," Gawain spoke up and earned Gallius' attention from where he walked ahead, "she is not what Gereon and Marcellus have led us to believe. She is actually quite the opposite. Well, apart from her quick tongue."

Gawain walked at the back with Galahad as Gallius looked at them both over his shoulder. Gawain examined the area as they continued to walk along, heading for the woods where Rhoswen was leading them into far ahead. His eyes fell on her, watching her gait and the swing of her hips.

"Much different." The words left his lips before he could ensure it was safe to speak them. He caught Gallius' stare, an eyebrow arched on the overprotective brother, and straightened himself in discomfiture. "She is actually very much like you it would seem."

Gawain met Gallius look full fledge again and with no banter or hidden meanings. Gallius turned around and looked at his sister, expression becoming serious and far away, "She's better."

"She does not seem to **trust** easily though." Lancelot piped up, remembering her words from earlier. She held something against men; all men. He sensed it as well as the others, he was sure.

"She doesn't trust you." Tristan, the quietest knight, spoke in defense of the girl he did not know only to prod at Lancelot's pride.

"Trust must be earned, dear knights!" Rhoswen's voice flittered back to them from where she walked ahead. She had heard everything that was being said behind her. She turned around and walked backwards gracefully with her hands behind her back. She smiled at them and Gallius could see that she already trusted them. If he did, then why should she not? She trusted her brother. So, she would trust the brothers of her brother until they gave her reason not to. Her eyes landed on Lancelot as a playful smile rested on her lips. "Sweet words and charm alone will do nothing to earn _my_ trust, sir Lancelot. **Prove** to me that you are worth my trust. Then and only then shall you have it."

"A challenge, my lady? Prove to you, if prove I must, your trust is worth the effort." Lancelot's eyes gleamed at the banter and at the competition. This was a change from when they had spoken earlier and he just had to exploit it. A chance to prove himself to one so fair was something he could not turn away. "I accept fair maiden's challenge."

Rhoswen laughed whole heartedly, it reaching her eyes, cheeks making them squint. She shook her head as she turned around and flipped her hair over her shoulder. It fell from its hold slightly. White-blonde strands fell about her back against the sapphire fabric she wore. It became almost stark like moonlight in the night sky.

"Why so cold?" Galahad called up from the back and gained Rhoswen's attention. She met his gaze and knitted her eyebrows together.

"Do not think me cold. I just… I have to be leery of anyone I know nothing about these days, I am afraid. I have seen too much, from these Romans and from others, to be able to give my trust freely anymore. My people and I have been tricked too many times. We cannot afford to make the same mistakes anymore. The next one could prove fatal." She froze slightly at her own words and looked off at the ground. How true they were. She was facing death because she had trusted a man who had promised her everything.

"Rhoswen, we won't allow that to happen." Gallius' soft voice broke through her thoughts and suddenly she realized he was standing before her. She tried to smile, to make him believe that she and everything else was alright, but he saw through it. "I won't let them hurt you."

 _If only you knew…_ she thought and nodded her head at her brother. She turned away and continued on leading them deeper into the woods. Her songs had stopped though as her mind went to a dark place. They walked in silence for a bit until Lancelot could bear it no longer.

"And what of your love, fair maiden? What does that cost?" Lancelot shot at her, a smirk playing at his lips again as he tried to lighten the mood that had begun to darken. Yes, he was a flirt and a scoundrel at times, but he was still a good man at heart. He did not like the sight of a woman in despair.

"My love, sir Lancelot?" Rhoswen shook her head, hair swaying over her back like a cascade of wheaten silk. She was confused. Why did he care about her love? She knitted her eyebrows at him with a thoughtful expression gracing her face. "Does this ruse normally work on the women where you are from?"

She walked around a fallen tree in the path as Lancelot shrugged and regained his smirk. He had her intrigued. Good.

"Most, yes. They swoon at the sight of my debonair smile and my charm." He replied and earned a laugh from her, smile returning to her face. "But they are not the woman I yearn for."

"Who is this woman you yearn for then? What is her name?" Rhoswen stopped and looked up at him as he walked up beside her. He stared down at her and, like with the Romans, Rhoswen showed no intimidation. She stood straight and met his gaze honestly without fear. A laugh was near to escaping her lips again.

"I have not found her yet sadly. But she will be my beautiful and have wheaten hair and eyes that sparkle like the Black Sea with mischief and longing for me, her brave and handsome husband." Lancelot replied as Arthur looked over to Gallius, watching to see what the protective brother would do. He did nothing and said nothing. He just smiled at the two or rather at his sister, who stood smiling up at his friend with a childlike glint in her eyes.

He wondered whether she had ever been spoken to in such a way by a man before. Had he been as forward and mischievous as Lancelot? As handsome and charming as Gawain? Or as kind and gentle as Dagonet? Did he yearn for her hand or her bed? Did he kiss her cheek or her lips? Bring her flowers or dance with her around a fire? Had he loved her and she loved him?

Gallius realized then just how much of her life he had missed. Years. Many years. She had only been a small child when he had left with the Roman recruiters. They were passing through and he had left, knowing he would not return for a long time if at all. In all this time while he trained and fought, his little sister grew up and became a woman.

"And what of her personality, sir?" Rhoswen probed with a grin worming its way to her face. Gallius watched his sister and Lancelot in their banter, finding that, while he was lost in his thoughts, somehow someway things had taken a more serious tone. He could see it on Rhoswen's face, in her eyes. She waited for what Lancelot would say next, hanging on his every word as she used to do with him as a child.

"She must be delicate like a flower; gentle with kind hands that can heal me after a hard journey. But also fierce and a bit fiery too, like the sun on a mid-summer's day when it feels as though it is kissing you with searing lips." Lancelot's face began to lose its smirk as he began to see something change within her eyes. Rhoswen's expressed hopefulness and longing as though he was speaking to her soul. He licked his lips. "She must be bright and full of life, but, should you get to close, our love may consume you."

Lancelot began to wonder. Had she never been flirted with before? Had the men of this town been blind when she became a woman of such beauty? Or was there something else? Something to do with the whole sticky situation they now found themselves in? Was she _off-limits_ perhaps? Had someone already claimed her as their own?

Lancelot licked his lips again and gave a small laugh, shaking his head. She did not want him, that he was sure of, but she did want someone; someone to love and to love her for who she was and everything she was; someone to take care of her, protect her from those who sought to destroy her, break her, bring her to utter ruin.

Lancelot caught Gallius' stare and straightened himself, giving a small bow of his head in apology. Gallius held nothing against him. It was Lancelot's nature to flirt and he knew his sister could handle herself.

"Yes, well you may find the girls in town a little easier to swoon to your charm then my sister, Lancelot. She does not fall prey to pretty eyes and fine words." Gallius spoke up and turned his gaze on Rhoswen, who met his look. He could see something beneath the surface, a longing for something she knew was impossible. The elders and Marcellus wanted her dead, not married.

"Then what does the lady Rhoswen fall prey to?" Lancelot questioned and looked to Rhoswen, begging her response. "Valor? Honor? Prowess?"

Rhoswen gave him a small smile and tucked a strand of hair behind her left ear. Her fingers gently brushed the ear cuff and then fell to her side once more. He would get nothing from her. Her lips were sealed like a tomb. Not because she did not know how to respond, but because what she wanted did not exist. She wanted a man who would treat her as an equal, who would not see her as subservient or lowly, who would not expect her to stay at home washing clothes and making meals. She was more than that; adventurer, healer, warrior, daughter, sister, exemplar to her people.

Gallius looked to his brothers as Rhoswen began to walk away. He eyed them all and chewed on the inside of his cheek. Her decision not to answer worried him. She was hiding something from them. Had she found someone while he had been away in Rome? If so, where was he? Why was he not protecting her? Had something happened to him? The elders and Marcellus were so keen on riding of her, going so far as to give her marriage to a savage or death. They had even managed to get the Sarmatian Knights to appear before them in court, hopping one of them would be her keeper. A knight whose ancestral reputation was one of bloodshed, mercilessness and fierceness, but also of honor and loyalty. If the elders and Marcellus couldn't find a suitable marriage, then they would resort to burning her at the stake as a heretic. But, they did not know these knights. Not like Gallius did.

Gallius looked to the knights again and took each of their statures in. Everyone believed that one of these men would provide the firm hand Rhoswen needed; perhaps even end her themselves if she stepped too far out of her husband's line. They were seen as killers, barbarian, savage; bred to be firm and strong and ferocious; raised to be fighters. They were not inherently violent or cruel though. None of these men were images of what people envisioned them as.

Gallius looked to Lancelot, who in turn looked to Arthur, both earning their commander's attention. Lancelot cocked his head slightly at him, giving him a familiar knowing gaze as Arthur nodded. The three of them had figured something out; something they had gotten the sense about while having spoken to Marcellus.

"Somethin' we should know?" Bors questioned quietly as he took a step closer to the three. He looked from Gallius to Lancelot and finally to Arthur in question and defiance. He didn't like secrets, especially ones his brothers kept.

"Let us speak to Vayle and confirm our suspicions first." Gallius expressed and looked from Bors back to Arthur. "I hope that I am wrong."

Arthur nodded his head and looked towards Rhoswen, who walked with her eyes cast downwards. She had gone from a sprightly young woman to melancholy and quiet. He hoped that they all had been thinking differently from himself, but he doubted it. Most often they shared similar thoughts. It is one thing that made them all so good at what they do.

Gallius and Lancelot followed after Arthur, who followed closely behind Rhoswen. Bors stopped and stood in his spot. He cursed softly under his breath at them, something about Romans and their bloody secrets. He looked to Galahad and Gawain as they too passed by him, shrugging their shoulders as they went. He then looked up at Dagonet.

"It doesn't bother you that those three are keepin' secrets?" Bors asked incredulously and pointed a finger in the direction of Gallius, Arthur and Lancelot. Dagonet placed one of his large hands on his brother's shoulder.

"Let it go, Bors." Dagonet instructed and let his hand fall as he looked in the direction the others had gone. His gaze found Rhoswen. Her head lifted, eyes peering out into the woods at the sound of a branch snapping. Dagonet's gaze followed hers and caught sight of the doe and faun as they walked along. His gaze returned to her, sensing the trepidation that echoed from her every movement. He looked to Gallius and Arthur, questioning silently as well what they were keeping hidden. It was more than obvious that it had to do with Rhoswen, but what else?

"Let it go. Hogwash." Bors grumbled as he walked passed Dagonet and caught up to the others. Dagonet followed, looking over his shoulder a few times at sudden noises the woods offered, but only ever spotting Tristan scouting in the trees behind them.

Gallius walked up beside Rhoswen, talking with her quietly. She turned her head fully and looked up at him with wide eyes in response to something he had said. She was like a doe caught in the sights of a hunter.

"That's it isn't it?" Gallius scoffed and shook his head. "Bloody Hell. He's a mad man."

"Just let it go, Gale." Rhoswen breathed out and looked away from him as she led them all down a small dirt path. It was only created by the shuffling of a few pairs of feet day in and day out. Path less traveled.

Dagonet narrowed his eyes at Rhoswen and her brother as he and Bors fell in step behind Arthur and Lancelot. Gawain and Galahad walked behind them all bickering about some nonsense. Dagonet watched Rhoswen and Gallius closely, trying to hear what they were speaking about.

Who was a mad man? Gereon? Marcellus? Someone else? – Dagonet wondered. Bors narrowed his eyes at his taller brother to his left and then shifted his gaze, catching what was in Dagonet's line of sight. He said nothing and looked back at the siblings, questioning what was going on again.

"Rhoswen please tell me." Gallius took hold of her upper arm and she looked up at him, pleading with him to stop with her gaze. "Did he hurt you? Did he _touch_ you…?"

Dagonet could barely hear the words, but pieced the conversation together. Rhoswen ripped her arm away and fixed her sleeve, assuring Gallius that no harm had come to her. Not _that_ way.

"Then tell me what the Hell has been going on." Gallius growled lowly, softly, in frustration. "He claims one thing, you claim another. Which is it?"

"It is both." She resigned and looked up at him again. She took a deep breath and licked her lips, chewing on the bottom one gently. She released it and it plumped with a rosy color. "It all began to go south when I refused to marry him."

Rhoswen tried to force a smile, but she could not find the strength. Gallius wrapped an arm around her shoulders while his other hand carried her basket full of strawberries. He pulled her close and kissed the top of her head, her hair tickling his nose.

"None of this is your fault." Gallius breathed into her hair and pulled back, continuing to walk with his arm wrapped around her. She rested her head against his shoulder and wrapped an arm around his waist. She looked ahead as they continued on and spotted the cottage a bit further down the path. It sat nestled in a small clearing, the sun hitting the roof in bright rays.

Bors looked to Dagonet, who met his stare. Bors asked a silent question: who was the man she refused? Dagonet shook his head in reply, walking with a hand on the hilt of his sword and tapping the ring that sat on his pointer finger against the steel knob at the end. Bors shook his head after a moment, murmured something and continued walking as well.

As they approached the cottage, they would see smoke rising from the chimney in small billows of white.

"Vayle!" Rhoswen called out and left her brother's embrace. She walked quicker to the cottage door. "Chuir mé na Ridirí ó ar fud an Mhuir Dhubh!"

Lancelot looked to Arthur, both exchanging similar glances at the strange language. It made them uncomfortable when tongues not known to their ears were spoken. Both turned to Gallius, who was already working through what had been said.

"She was informing Vayle that she has brought us with her." Gallius replied to their stares. He had a bit of trouble deciphering the language. He had not spoken it in years and had heard it even rarer.

"Vayle?" Rhoswen knocked gently on the cottage door as Gallius set the basket of strawberries he carried for his sister on a pile of wood that lay against the humble home. Rhoswen knocked again and after getting no response, she opened the door a crack. She peeked her head inside and looked about for any sign of the older woman.

"Vayle!" She called out and removed herself from the door. She looked over her left and right shoulders in search of her. "Vayle! Cá bhfuil tú?"

Gallius also searched, but then something dropped within the cottage. Something glass or perhaps ceramic. Rhoswen spun around and poked her head back in the open door. She asked quietly if everything was alright and a small response followed by a different voice. Gallius and the others could hear their soft words, hearing the much sterner and aged reply. Only Gallius knew what they spoke of though for the others could not make out the ancient tongue.

"Tá mé ag dul ar ais go dtí an baile. Ní mór dom an claonadh a bhíonn tinn." Rhoswen said suddenly and in a rush in the hopes that Vayle could not catch everything at once. But the older woman was still as spry as she was in her youth.

"You will do no such thing, young lady!" Vayle screeched and suddenly the door burst open and Rhoswen stumbled backwards with a small laugh. Vayle was in much different dress than they all had seen earlier. Instead of the wine colored dress of earlier she wore a simple tanned dress with a leather belt around her middle and sleeves pulled back and held back by straps of woven reed. Vayle wagged a finger at Rhoswen. "You cannot go gallivanting off. It isn't safe for you. Not while those beasts roam the streets freely."

"I will be fine, Vayle. Speak to our visitors and by the time you have finished I will have returned." Rhoswen nodded her head at the group and looked back to Vayle with reassuring eyes. "I will return soon. I must gather the herbs and see to them. It is my duty. You understand this."

"Cailín trua, riamh a choinneáil léi féin . Is féidir le Dul chun amach duit féin le do dhualgas roimh an chuid eile acu deireadh tú." Veyle grumbled harsh words under her breath and waved for Rhoswen to go. Gallius cursed under his breath at what his aunt had said and shook his head, running a hand over his mouth. His aunt always had had a nasty temper. Vayle shooed Rhoswen away. "Off with ya then. Daft girl! Do not claim that I did not warn you should something go wrong."

"Never auntie." Rhoswen smiled and walked away from her with a laugh. She grabbed her basket from the pile of wood and bowed her head at Gallius, who had heard everything. He rolled his eyes at her in response to Vayle's behavior and then shooed her off himself. Rhoswen turned to the knights and curtsied, pulling her dress up slightly in proper manner.

"Should you be traveling alone, my lady?" Arthur asked and shot his gaze in Vayle's direction for a brief moment. Vayle clicked her tongue against her cheek and waved, giving up on the girl. Rhoswen knitted her eyebrows together at Arthur's question. "I only ask in fear of your safety. "

"Leave her be, boy. She goes to gather herbs for the sick. Fear not for she has a dagger hiding somewhere on that bodice, which she is quite handy with." Vayle answered his questions and crossed her arms over her chest in a rather manly manner. Arthur looked to the older woman who had dared to call him, Artorius Castus, commander of the Sarmatian Knights and a Roman military man, _boy_. He examined her stance; resolute and authoritative.

Rhoswen noticed the look on Arthur's face and tried to hide her grin. Vayle was a viper. One wrong move and she would strike any man down who dare defy her wishes. Rhoswen met Gawain and Galahad's looks and wiggled her eyebrows once in good humor at their commander's dumbstruck expression. These men were unused to a woman standing strong against them. Most foreign men were. Rhoswen then took the opportunity to begin walking away again, heading further into the woods with her basket swinging on her arm.

"She goes to the healing houses to tend to the wounded and the sick. As is her duty as the village healer now. Tsssh… stupid girl just like her mother. Goin' off alone with those _beasts_ roamin' around out there. Preyin' on young girls… would not see me tending my duties if I were her in these times." Vayle scoffed to herself, forgetting for a moment they were all standing there. She waved her hand in the direction Rhoswen had walked away in. "Thank the Goddess that she knows how to take care of herself though. Sends most of them away shaking in their boots."

"If there are those who seek to harm her, should she not be escorted then?" Galahad asked sardonically and looked in the direction Rhoswen was walking away in. He made perfect sense.

Rhoswen could still be seen walking through the woods on the path back to town. Her white-blonde hair caught the sunlight that peeked through the leaves of the tall trees and seemed to radiate. Vayle hissed some more under her breath, waved a hand harshly in Rhoswen's direction again and walked back to her house without another word on it. Gallius met Arthur's stare and silently asked him for an escort for his sister.

"What if one of my knights escorted her to her destination? Simply to ensure her safety." Arthur spoke up and looked back at Dagonet, who bowed his head in acknowledgement of his commander's choice. "Dagonet here is a healer as well and very good at it. Perhaps he may be able to lend her a hand as well as protect her on her travels."

Vayle stopped at her door and looked over her shoulder. She narrowed her eyes at Arthur and then at the man that walked up beside him. Vayle walked up to Dagonet and gave him the once over, circling him slowly like a grandmother would.

"I promise you, Dagonet is more than capable of protecting her. He–"

Vayle shushed Arthur sharply and continued her examination. Arthur looked to Gallius, who shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest. He had no answer for Arthur on Vayle's behavior. She had always been _odd_.

"She's going to do it to all of you at some point. Just let her be done with it now." Gallius resigned and shook his head again, looking down at his boots.

Vayle looked over Dagonet's boots first as he stood straight and proper. His boots were well-kept, but aged from having been worn for so long. She touched his shirt sleeve. His clothing was nothing she had not seen before. Dagonet's yellow tunic and brown breeches were not unique. He, on the other hand, was. He stood nearly four or five inches taller than the other knights, even taller than Arthur himself and had broad shoulders with a muscular back. His hands were as large as a head of cabbage. If Vayle had met him many years ago, she would claim he was part giant.

Vayle met his eyes. His expression came across as stern and hardened by battle, but Vayle could see that was only a mask he wore like many of them. There was something in his eyes, grey blue like a clear summer's moon, that held more than his knightly demeanor. There was pain, perhaps an even deeper suffering of some kind, but also gentleness and a tender personality.

Vayle could see it all. She was good at seeing all. Her years and her experience made her a keen observer.

Her eyes fell upon the scar that crossed Dagonet's face from brow to cheekbone. It was an ugly one, she admitted to herself, and angry. However, it lacked its furious red color which indicated it was many years old. It had faded from time, but it was a part of him forever in a much profounder way as she was sure scars in other places on his body were as well.

Her eyes drifted downwards to his hands again and the hilt of his sword. It was a long sword, heavy and bulky to most men, but judging by his physique, he could more than simply handle it. He could wield it properly and deliver a crushing blow.

Vayle gave a single nod of approval and waved him away. Arthur nodded his head in the direction Rhoswen had gone and Dagonet strode after her. His long legs provided strides equally as long that would surly allow him to catch up to her before she hit town. Gallius watched Dagonet disappear into the woods and looked back at Vayle.

"Things are that bad?" Gallius asked gently as Vayle walked back to her door. She stopped before it, placing a hand on the door frame and turned her head to peer at him from the corner of her eyes.

"Aye. That they are." Her voice betrayed her. It was tired and old, beginning to crack from stress and use. "It has been a long time since you were here Gale. Much has changed. Not all for the better neither."

The air fell silent. Birds chirped happily in the woods as something moved among the brush. Vayle tapped a finger against the door frame and then slapped it.

"Come boys! I have food sitting here getting stone cold!" Vayle shouted and moved inside her home. She went for the bowls, clanging some other dishes in the process. Arthur placed a hand on Gallius' shoulder, understanding what was crossing his mind. Gallius was uneasy about his sister. If he could he would have them all following his sister around the town to ensure her utmost safety. Arthur lowered his head and then turned it to the right.

"Tristan," Arthur called to his ranger and looked back at him, "follow them but do not be seen."

"Why?" Bors asked, watching as Tristan nodded his head, hair falling in his face and then stalked off in Rhoswen's general direction. Bors looked back at Arthur. "Dagonet can handle watchin' over a single woman."

"It is a precaution only Bors." Arthur answered and looked back at Gallius, who nodded his head once to agree.

"Precaution for what? Dagonet can handle those Romans." Bors chided, but Arthur's stern stare stopped him from saying more.

"I know he can. It is not them I worry about." Arthur looked at the other three knights left at his side; Lancelot, Gawain and Galahad. "Marcellus has this whole post under his control without any interference from Rome itself. It is quickly becoming clear that we have stepped into a tyranny."

"Aye." Vayle's voice came from the door where she stood with a rag in her hands, wiping them clean from something. She slung it over her left shoulder and leaned against the door frame. "A tyranny it is. The elders are too afraid to act against him and his feather headed companions. Even though they want to, they cannot because he has their hands tied."

"What is a feather head?" Galahad asked, looking around at the rest of them for an explanation. Vayle wondered if that was truly the only thing he had gotten out of what she had said.

"It's a roman soldier." Gallius answered simply, noticing Vayle's annoyance. She had always been a short-tempered woman. A true viper. Maim first. Ask questions later. Gallius looked back to Galahad, who appeared to still be lost. He motioned to his head. "Because of their helmets."

"Come." Vayle waved a hand at them to enter her home. "Rhoswen said you'd be hungry. She has prepared a rabbit stew. It isn't much, but it will warm your bellies and keep the cold from setting into your bones."

"She said you made lunch." Gallius returned with quickly. He was confused.

"Oh did she now?" Vayle held a mischievous look on her face as she turned and entered her cottage. Gallius didn't understand what it meant and he was certain he would never find out either. A shout came from the cottage that took him by surprise, "I will not ask again! Get your arses in here!"

Gallius looked at the others. His expression communicated his apology to them all, somewhat embarrassed by his aunt's actions and harsh words. He then led them into the quaint abode, standing beside the door outside to allow them entrance. Once they were all inside he closed the door behind them.


	4. Chains That Bind Us

}{-Milk and Honey-}{

Rhoswen saw the town ahead and switched the basket she carried to her other arm. It had become heavy during her walk as she had stopped along the way and picked herbs and flowers that grew wild in the woods. She looked down at her basket and pulled a strawberry from it. She brushed off some dirt with her thumb and took a bite, finding that it wasn't quite ripe, but it was still juicy and sweet on her tongue.

She tossed the stem and some white meat of the strawberry to the ground as she spotted Roman soldiers ahead to her left. They were walking along the base of the wall with their swords on their belts and spears in their hands. They had not spotted her yet and she thanked the goddess for her small grace. Rhoswen's eyes moved to the wall, stone and ugly; a Roman construction. She missed the palisade her people had built of tall tree trunks they had gathered from the woods generations ago. Even though the trees had been brought down they had still protected the people who had lived in peace with this land. The Romans had disturbed that peace, that understanding the natives had with the earth.

The soldiers laughed, getting Rhoswen attention purposefully. She watched them trot through her gardens and kicking up the vegetation she had worked so long to cultivate. She knew what they wanted from her. A reaction, biting words, a reason for them to approach her. She bit her tongue against shouting out at them and instead turned her head, continuing to walk along silently. She had to be careful now. She had to decide which battles were worth fighting and which were best left alone.

"Hey, girl! White hair, look here!" One of the soldiers called out to her as she passed by the gardens. He turned to his fellow soldier, slapped him on the arm and shook his head at Rhoswen's lack of interest in them. They then picked up their pace and strode over to her, but she ignored them. She found the game of cat and mouse uninspiring. The soldiers walked behind her, their armor clanking with each step. "Hey, harpy! I'm talkin' to you!"

The soldier grabbed her arm and spun her around to face them. She nearly dropped the basket, not having expected the contact without more of a warning. They were getting more confident the more she tried not to fight back, to not upset the uneasy balance.

Rhoswen gave her arm a tug, but he did not release her. Instead, he tugged her closer to him and looked through her basket. He pulled out a strawberry and bit into it, the juice spraying her face.

"I was talkin' to you." He threw the half eaten strawberry back at her. It bounced off her chest and fell to the ground at her feet. She said nothing, did nothing, just stared at him impassively and clamped her teeth down on her tongue so hard she thought she might sever it. Her blood boiled in her veins as the soldier spoke to his comrade about her, about her body and her reputation for being a floosy.

"Now it seems your openin' your legs freely to those whoremongers. Heard they fucked those horses they care so much about. Heathens." The soldier and his comrade laughed. His hold on her wrist tightened as he moved closer to her. She could smell his breath as it washed over her face. She could smell the ale. He was almost close enough that her breast grazed his armored chest. "Give yourself to them, but not to the rest of us? I can fuck you just as right as any knight. Probably better."

Rhoswen said nothing, but tried to pull away again. The soldier was strong, but she could get loose if she needed to. She had strong legs that would bring him to his knees in an instant. Her eyes drifted from the soldier before her to his comrade and then to the wall where more soldiers gathered. Their eyes were settled on them. She could not fight them all and she feared what might happen if they caught her openly bashing a Roman's skull in again.

"Answer me when I'm talkin' to you, whore." The soldier barked at her and jerked her arm so hard she worried it would separate from her shoulder.

"Yes, you are, but as you can plainly see, the lady has no desire to talk back to you and she does not have to." A man's deep voice sounded from the right of Rhoswen and the soldiers. Her head snapped to the right to see one of the Sarmatian knights. It was the tall one with broad shoulders and a quiet disposition.

"Sir Dagonet." Rhoswen greeted, releasing her tongue. It ached from her bite.

"Lady Rhoswen." Dagonet greeted back and walked up beside her with his hand on the hilt of his sword. He exposed purposefully that he was well armed to the men. Dagonet's eyes caught sight of the hold the soldier had on her and then they trailed back to meet the man's gaze. "Are you blind as well as deaf?"

With his thumb he pushed his sword up from its sheath, exposing the steel to the sunlight and sending the two a silent message to back away. The soldier's eyes caught sight of it and looked to his comrade, who nodded his head. He looked back at Dagonet, glowering and released Rhoswen. Dagonet moved closer and blocked Rhoswen from them with his own body, gently pushing her behind him. Rhoswen looked down at her wrist. She rubbed the imprint of the soldier's hand that was beginning to appear and darken.

"I think it would be wise to take your leave and finish your patrol." Dagonet's voice held a firmness to it that caused the soldier's expression to sour even more. The other soldier said something to him, urging him to let it go and walk away. He did, after a long moment, scowling as they left to finish their rounds. Dagonet turned back to Rhoswen once he believed the Roman soldiers were far enough away. She looked up at him, craning her neck slightly because of her five foot eight height. He was almost a foot taller than her, falling short only a mere few inches she guessed.

"Thank you." She said thoughtfully. She was a bit confused as to why he was here, but she was also glad he had arrived when he did. Should he not be with the others speaking to Vayle though? She looked behind him, half expecting to see the others, but instead she saw only the empty path to the woods. She looked back at him with honest bewilderment. "Why are you here?"

"To escort you, my lady." Dagonet's voice held no banter and was deadpan serious. "The others believed it unwise for you to stroll without–"

"Without a man by my side?" Rhoswen snapped gently and then shook her head. Her hand rubbed the mark on her other wrist subconsciously. "I'm sorry. I did not mean that to sound so bitter."

"I understand, my lady." Dagonet's words sounded sincere, but as she looked up at him she wondered; how could you know?

"But you do not. How could you, Sarmatian?" Rhoswen asked, understanding that her people's ways were strange; to the Romans, to these knights, to him. Here in Celtica, women were not looked down upon and were not expected only to cook and clean or bear children. They were healers, elders, warriors too and to have foreign **men** stroll in and tell them they cannot be themselves was as though their hearts had been ripped out. "It is a sad day when a Celt is not allowed to defend herself in her own homeland."

Rhoswen licked her lips slowly and then opened her mouth to say something again, but she knew not what to say to him. Her eyes drifted to the two soldiers, who were aligning themselves with a group of other soldiers that stood at the town wall on the dirt road that led to the entrance. They talked and discussed in scowls, eyes shooting daggers in her direction and at her rescuer.

"Perhaps I should not mind the company today." Rhoswen sighed heavily in defeat and looked to Dagonet once more, trying to smile. He nodded his head at her with a small smile of his own. Dagonet noticed her crestfallen eyes as she looked away towards the soldiers again. He too looked at the Roman soldiers. They eyeballed her, called to her with names and purrs, made foul gestures that only foolish men made to women not in the red light district. His expression never faltered as his stare turned hard, firm. The soldiers he had already spoken too turned their backs to them.

"I may be Sarmatian and a foreigner to these lands, but I understand having your freedom taken from you. Not being allowed to live your life the way you wish to." He spoke again, tone honest and thoughtful. She looked up at him and met his gaze. She had sensed the soldiers' intimidation of the steadfast Sarmatian knight and even felt intimidated herself as she took in his posture. He was very large, very muscular and his stare was firm, hiding his intentions and thoughts from her observant eyes. This made her unsure of him and it made her feel small. There was only one other who made her feel such a way; Marcellus. However, she didn't feel unimportant under Dagonet's gaze as she did under Marcellus'. He made her feel the opposite; too important, too valuable, too worthy.

"Please, my lady." Dagonet began again when she had not responded to him. He could tell she was deep in her own thoughts. He hoped he had not frightened her or daunted her by his appearance. He knew how he appeared to people. He was a giant with an off-putting appearance and an odd disposition, but to make it worse his people had a reputation that made most surly towards him. He made most people, even resolute men in and out of the military, uncomfortable by his presence. "Lady Rhoswen, allow me to follow for today as merely a precaution should something go wrong. I, in no way, wish to trample on your self-confidence or treat you as though you cannot handle your own person."

He stood a bit straighter before her and his face softened. Rhoswen felt her chest tighten at his words. No one here took her side, stood by her against the Romans who abused their power and rule. Was he doing this because he was a foreigner subjugated by the same people, because Gallius was their brother in arms and by some extension then she thus mattered to them or was it something else?

"It has been a long time since anyone not native to this town has **not** wished to see me harmed, you understand." She spoke up and met his stare again with sincerity. "It makes me a bit leery as to your intentions, knight."

"I only wish to ensure that no harm comes to you this day." Dagonet replied, understanding her hesitation to trust him. She had even told them all that her trust must be earned because she and her people had been betrayed so often. So, like Lancelot and the others, he would try to earn it. He would protect her in the hopes of proving himself worthy of her trust.

Rhoswen stared at him with a steady eye and confused thoughts, but then nodded. She would accept his aid for now. She needed it. She needed people she could trust, but could they be trusted? They rode with her brother, but her brother rode under the Roman flag… could she even trust him? Where did his loyalty lie? Was he Celt or was he Roman?

"I understand you cannot give your trust away freely, my lady." Dagonet saw the emotions pass through her eyes and understood the pressure she was under. "But please, believe that I will protect you from these men no matter what, as is my honor as a knight."

"A knight of Rome." Rhoswen spoke quicker than she had thought, well before she had a chance to catch her words. She chided herself and grimaced, closing her eyes. He was being kind over and over again to her and all she had for him was distrust and harsh words. Who had she become? Who had Marcellus and his Romans twisted her into?

"No my lady." Dagonet's voice was gentle and his tenderness allowed Rhoswen to meet his eyes without worry of backlash. If he were Marcellus, he would have struck her. Dagonet saw her relax. "I am a Sarmatian knight in bondage to the Roman Empire as was my father and his father before him; as will be my sons and their sons. I am caught by this chain they enslave me by until it is finally and forever broken. The same as you."

Rhoswen saw it, felt it as did he. They had connected on some level with one another. They understood each other to an extent, brought together by their chains enforced on them by Rome and Romans. He had set himself to silent resolve while she openly fought her chains. Same, but different.

"Would you like a strawberry, Sarmatian?" Rhoswen asked with a small smile and lifted the basket up, showing him the plump fruit. He looked at her somewhat taken aback by the offering. She shrugged and plucked a berry for him, letting the basket fall back to her side. She held it out to him. "Consider it my version of an olive branch."

Dagonet gave a small laugh and took the single berry from her fingers, skin grazing lightly as their eyes met. Dagonet looked at the fruit and took a bite. Rhoswen laughed at his face and apologized for the fruit not being quite ripe.

"I can be impatient at times. Forgive me." She apologized, but Dagonet heard the double meaning in her voice. She was apologizing for more than just the fruit. He nodded his head once at her and then outstretched a hand for her to lead him to their destination. He gave her a small, assuring smile that washed away her uneasiness. She returned the smile with one that reached her eyes and nodded her head, walking passed him.

As they approached the entrance into town, Dagonet caught sight of the two soldiers who had been harassing her earlier. His face went stern as his posture became straight and proper. The soldier scoffed and waved a hand at him and Rhoswen.

"You can have that worn out cunt, heathen!" The soldier shouted and turned away as they passed. "Can find a prettier, tighter twat at the tavern without having to fight to get into her bed."

Dagonet looked back at Rhoswen, who had ignored the shout entirely. At least that was how it appeared to him, who only saw her backside. He didn't know why, but the soldier's words caused him to examine her from her head down. He started with her light hair that fell from the messy bun she had constructed to her shoulders that were squared and set with purpose. His eyes trailed downwards to her back, hidden by her dress, but her hourglass figure was pronounced under the tight fabric. His eyes rested at her hips, on her buttocks, heart-shaped and swaying from side to side with each step like a proper woman.

Dagonet cursed himself and shot his eyes away to the people who waved to Rhoswen in greeting. He took a deep breath and then another, swallowing his desires and trying to calm himself. He was quiet and reserved, but still a man after all. A beautiful woman, a heart-shaped rump rocking before his gaze… he was neither blind nor celibate, but had more control than his brothers over his urges.

"How does our town fair to others you have seen, knight?" Rhoswen asked, turning around and breaking his thoughts. She knitted her eyebrows together at the look of him. He looked almost ashamed. "Are you alright?"

He said nothing and only bowed his head. She did a double take of him and then turned around fully, thinking on what could be wrong with him. An idea clicked. Was he ashamed or embarrassed for her with what the soldier had said? She looked back at him again, taking in that he did not look to her, and then turned back round. She led him to the town square.

Dagonet noticed that the people, the native people, looked fondly on the young woman he escorted while the Romans frowned. Several children, Roman and Celt, ran up to her asking after what was in the basket. She was all too happy to oblige and knelt down, holding the basket out to them to look into. Their faces brightened at the sight of the fruit.

"Easy now. There are plenty for all." She laughed and held the basket out to them. They greedily handled the fruit with smiles on their faces, ignoring the flowers and herbs. "I am sorry that they are not quite ripe yet. I picked a bit too early it seems."

"Thank you, miss Rhoswen! Thank you!" The children spoke gratefully and departed when the basket was barren of the red plump fruit. Rhoswen stood up and looked to Dagonet, smiling at him. She gave a small shrug and he returned it with short, snort of a laugh.

 _ **Who is this woman?**_ – he wondered as a little girl with strawberry blonde hair and big green eyes tugged on Rhoswen's dress. She could have been the young woman's daughter; spitting image apart from the color of their eyes.

"Yes Cara?" Rhoswen asked gently and knelt back down on the ground, one knee touching the dirt. Dagonet tilted his head to the side and watched as the girl grew shy in his presence. The girl looked from Rhoswen to Dagonet and then back, fidgeting in her spot. Rhoswen looked back at Dagonet and smiled, biting her bottom lip. She looked back at the girl, moving to open the view the girl had of Dagonet. Rhoswen pointed at the tall man. "Cara, this is Dagonet. He is a knight come from across the Black Sea."

Cara held her hands behind her back and swayed from side to side. Rhoswen smiled warmly at her, encouraging her to speak.

"Come now, Cara. Tell me what you have behind your back."

"I made you something, Elder Rhoswen." Cara outstretched her hands and offered Rhoswen a crown of deep pink and red flowers. It was a bit misshapen and some of the flowers fell off, but Rhoswen accepted it with bright eyes and a wide smile.

"Oh Cara! You sweet child. It is wonderful. Thank you." Rhoswen set the basket down, placed the crown on her head and opened her arms to the girl. Cara was quick to accept the hug and giggled when Rhoswen rocked them both from side to side playfully. Rhoswen turned her head into Cara's hair and whispered, "I am so proud of you."

Rhoswen released Cara and the girl giggled. Dagonet looked at the two tenderly, the scene a nice change from the bloodshed and death he normally viewed. It was not lost on him though what the child had called Rhoswen; Elder. His gaze fell on Rhoswen, who reached into her basket and pulled from it a mottled apple of red and orange. Rhoswen took her free hand that held the basket and placed a digit over her lips, motioning for the girl to be quiet and not tell the other children.

"Thank you, Rhoswen." She took the Gala apple in both hands and skipped away happily. Rhoswen stood up straight and fixed the crown on her head, the sweet fragrance of the flowers wafting over her. She closed her eyes and took in the smell as the sun warmed her face.

"Peonies." Dagonet spoke up, recognizing the flowers in her hair. He had seen them along the road, but the ones near Rome were purple with yellow pollen. These were much more flattering on the young woman before him though. The purple would have washed her out even more while the pink and red warmed her face, gave color to her hair.

"Yes. They grow wild everywhere in this area." Rhoswen replied and opened her eyes. She met his gaze with a tender smile.

"You are an elder?" Dagonet asked quickly and watched as she tucked some of her hair behind her ear, pulling it back into a messy bun of sorts. She looked back at him and raised a hand to her forehead to block the glare from the sun.

"I was an elder, yes. However, I gave my seat up to Vayle when she returned to town. She is much more adapted to it then I, I must say." She answered, all too happy about the arrangement. Politics were a forte of hers, but she had never liked it; despise it in fact. She hated the pointless meetings, the ramblings of old fools, the policies that did nothing for the people and only aided in their destruction. She had been thrilled to give up her seat to her aunt and Dagonet could see the happiness and relief in her eyes. It was the way they gleamed as she spoke about it as though Vayle had freed her in some small way.

"I never wanted it to begin with. Politics were never my passion." Rhoswen nodded her head and let her hand fall to her side. She turned from him and began walking again, basket swinging at her hip. He followed behind her, but not too closely. He kept his eye on those around, spotting stares and narrowed gazes from those they passed. Some were for her, others for him. Not everywhere they went were people happy to see the great Sarmatian knights. There were plenty that saw them only as a threat to their way of life because of the Roman flags that followed with them.

"Ignore them." Rhoswen piped up from ahead as she took in the looks pointed at her escort. She didn't like the way they looked at him. It upset her for some unknown reason to her. Perhaps because she was seeing that he was a man whom she may one day, if she were around then, could trust. She looked back at Dagonet and shrugged shamelessly. "That is what I usually do. I do not care what they have to say about me. Most times it is lies and hogwash anyways."

Dagonet could not help the small chuckle that escaped his lips at her attitude. It was refreshing. She was much different than the Roman women he had met; not as uptight, not as worried about her image, more carefree.

Rhoswen turned a corner and Dagonet followed, mapping out their path in his mind so he may later find his way around. He assumed they would stay the night perhaps a few if things took much longer than planned. Which normally they did. After all, they were now a part of this whole mess and they needed to find a suitable way out of it. They could not leave the fate of this young woman or this town to the hands of a tyrant. Dagonet, as were his brothers, were men of honor.

Dagonet caught her gaze and then looked around at those they passed, homes they passed, streets they passed. Rhoswen headed for a small round structure made of stone and earth that he found similar to those he and the others had seen in other towns nearby. It was an original structure, or at least an original design, from a time when the town was not occupied by Romans.

She walked through the open door and he followed. His senses were greeted by the smell of spices and flowers as he entered as well as the sight of a traditional Celtic dwelling. It was much different than anything Roman. It reminded him almost of home. A hearth sat in the center with a small fire already burning, a cauldron boiling water above it. Several animal skins lay on the floor for covering; deer, a bear, a badger, several rabbits. Herbs and flowers hung from the ceiling and walls to dry, the warmth of the fire causing their oils to waft through the air and calm those inside the shelter.

"What is this place?" He asked as he looked around at the few people who littered the space. They were either sitting in a chair or lying on makeshift beds of furs and woven cloths. Rhoswen greeted several of them with a warm smile and then looked back at Dagonet.

"Teach Cneasaithe." She replied in her native tongue as she set her basket down on a table towards the back. She moved to a window, a Roman construction, and opened it to allow the sunshine to pour in as well as the sweet smelling spring breeze. She looked over at him, realizing he had no idea what she had said. "This is the Healing House. Well, actually it is my house that I have turned into the Healing House."

She smiled at him and walked to a closed door. She opened it and walked inside, waving for him to follow her. He did so and was surprised to see there was a hallway with a couple of other closed doors. He had not been able to see from the front of the building that the back stretched further, allowing for several more rooms. Dagonet wondered briefly how often she was alone with all these rooms.

Rhoswen opened a door at the back of the hall and revealed a storehouse of healing substances; flowers, herbs, oils, potions, salves, and so much more. Dagonet was quite impressed. For being an "uncivilized" people, they certainly had much to offer in terms of medicine.

"I am the village healer. I used to live with my father and the other elders in the main house, but it seemed more practical to live here." She explained as Dagonet stepped into the room. "This used to be the store house for our winter rations, but the Romans built a new store house on the other side of the village from stone."

Smells hit him hard and fast, playing with his nose and melding into one. It was almost too much for him and as soon as Rhoswen realized this, she headed to the back and opened the small window to allow airflow.

"Sorry. I am used to the fumes." She pushed the window open wider and then moved to prop the door open. Dagonet moved further into the room, noting that she had quite the collection that he found himself immersing in as he looked over the shelves. Rhoswen pulled several bottles and herbs from the shelves, collecting them and placing them in a crate that sat at the ready on the floor. Dagonet watched her as she stood on the balls of her feet, toes exposed from beneath her dress, and stretched for a pot with dried flowers within it. He strode over without her even asking and pulled the pot from the shelf, handing it down to her.

"Thank you." She smiled at him and held the pot to her chest tightly. She could not tell if it was just the fact that the room was small or that he was so large, but he seemed to stand undeniably close to her. She felt her hands tingle, moisten and she quickly looked up at the shelf above her. "It must be nice being so tall."

She smiled nervously, searching to keep her mind off his proximity. She was certain it was the size of the room and his large build that made her uncomfortable. Why would he choose to stand so close to her?

"Most days, my lady." Dagonet replied and returned her smile. Rhoswen looked down at the pot and examined the dried flowers. She pulled one out and handed it to him, their fingers brushing gently. The flower had a thick, sturdy stalk and the petals had turned from white to brown, but he recognized it from his youth. "A sea daffodil."

Rhoswen's smile became softer as he looked over the flower from the Black Sea. It was the only one she had. The only one she had ever seen. It had been so beautiful when she had gotten it from a trader passing through on his way south. Rhoswen watched Dagonet carefully. He said nothing and only stared at the flower in remembrance. The room fell silent and the fragrances became overwhelming even to her.

"I hear that they grow south of here," she began in an attempt to alleviate her own uneasiness that this knight brought her, "in a place called Gallaecia along the coast. A trader brought bulbs with him from his home across the Black Sea and they took to the sandy soil."

She did not know why she was continuing to talk. She was not a talker and it was certainly enough to just hand him the piece of home he longed for. He did not care how she had gotten it, from whom, or why. Only that it was there in his hands.

"You may keep it if you like, sir Dagonet." She offered, making sure that she slowed her words and calmed her breath. She was not unsettled because of Dagonet. She would have been unsettled with any man being so close in such a small room, alone, far from prying ears and eyes. She didn't have much trust in men anymore and she chided herself for that now. Dagonet was not like these others that occupied her homeland. She sensed it, saw it, yet she could not shake the past to free her for the future.

Dagonet heard the tone in her voice as she used his name for the first time. It betrayed her. He could hear the uneasiness. He made a lot of people uneasy. He met her gaze and then looked at the flower in his hand again. His expression softened in an attempt to relieve her as he had tried to ealier.

"No, you keep it, my lady. As a reminder that not everything across the Black Sea is frightening and dangerous." He offered it back to her. His words had struck her profoundly and she found her chest tightened, relief washing over her like one of the potions on the shelf to an ailing patient. Dagonet smiled, innocent to how he had caused her to feel. "I will see them again one day when I return to the Black Sea. When we are free."

Their fingers grazed as they transferred the flower from his custody to hers again, but neither flinched. Rhoswen held the dried flower a moment and then placed it back into the pot, turning to return it to a shelf lower for her reach. She looked back at him and thought about his words; _when we are free_. She forgot that he and the other Sarmatian knights were not willing fighters. They had been taken as children.

"I am certain you will." She assured him and then looked at the crate on the floor. She made to reach for it, but he had already taken hold of it.

"Allow me, my lady." He picked it up with ease, but knew that it would have been heavy for her. He awaited her next move, unsure where the crate was going and took the chance to look at the contents. He recognized many of the herbs and plants. "Yarrow, holy thistle, Illyrian iris, bay laurel…"

"Do you know of the healing arts, sir Dagonet?" She questioned as she watched him carefully. He knew many of the medicinal plants she carried in her storeroom. It would make sense if he too was a healer.

"Yes, I am a healer for Arthur and the others, my lady." He explained and Rhoswen gave a small nod of her head. She smiled, complimenting herself on guessing correctly. She headed for the storeroom door and Dagonet walked out with the crate. Rhoswen resigned to leaving the storeroom door open and led him down the hall to the main room. She motioned to the table for him to place the crate and looked back at her, getting the sense that she had something on her mind.

She stopped her actions of pulling down dried herbs and plants from the walls. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and sighed slowly to release her pent up emotion. This was her safe house; the one place she could be herself without worrying about abuse or retaliation. She looked about the room at those who sat ailing from sickness and wounds, deciding who needed her help first.

"The Romans do not trust you to heal them?" Dagonet questioned, noticing that all the people in the Healing House were her people. She gave a small laugh and shook her head at his question.

"Certainly not. They have good reason not to trust their health in my hands. I would certainly ensure they suffered some intestinal discomfort of some variety." She joked and moved to the crate. She began working, peering over at Dagonet who stood firmly in his place. She licked her lips and gently tapped a finger on the side of the crate. "If you are up for it and would not mind, I could use an extra pair of hands."

She met Dagonet's gaze full fledge and realized he was grateful to be of use. He moved to the sword on his side and unhooked his belt, pulling it off of his waist. He moved closer to the table she stood at and set it behind the crate. He nodded his head once at Rhoswen and then walked to an elderly woman sitting in a chair. He knelt down before her and questioned her on her ailments, diagnosing her quickly.

Rhoswen was impressed and gave an approving nod. She then turned back to the crate. She began pulling everything out, setting it up on the table and crafting her healing medicines while Dagonet gathered the reports of ailments and wounds.


	5. Vayle's Cottage

}{-Milk and Honey-}{

~Vayle's Cottage~

The cottage was bigger than it looked from the outside to the knights. Two rooms were all it contained. A small table, which could seat six tightly, sat almost as soon as you entered the cottage. Some extra chairs were spread out here and there about the living space as well as a tall cupboard with many drawers. It sat against the back wall near another door that led to the back of the cottage and out into the woods. To the right of the cupboard there was another door that sat open, exposing the single bedroom.

Vayle stood by the fire, stirring a pot of steaming rabbit stew. The smell of meat and vegetables and spices wafted about. It disturbed the knights' bellies that rumbled and groaned with hunger they had all but forgotten about.

"Rhoswen said that after such a long journey you'd be hungry. So she went huntin' this morning. She was hopin' to catch that buck that's been prancin' around these parts. Only found a rabbit to her dismay though." Vayle explained as she began to dish out the stew, setting the bowls on the table before heading back to the pot for more. "She was so disappointed. Wanted to be sure you all were fed right and well. She is very sorry that it isn't much, but it is hot and it is fresh. So thank her when she comes back."

"Why was she hunting?" Gallius asked as he sat down at the table and looked at the bowl of stew. He recognized the meat as rabbit, which he had not eaten since he was a child. It was something **only** the hunters ate and they only ate it because they sold their better meats in town. "Why did she not buy it from the hunters?"

"The Romans don't rightly give us freefolk our do share of the food rations and they shooed the hunters away long ago." Vayle explained, understanding Gallius' confusion. He had not questioned because his sister couldn't hunt, but because there should be plenty of food in the village to buy; beef, pork, chickens. Yet, she was left hunting and eating rabbits. "I hunt as does your sister and the other Celts. The Romans keep the good meats to their bloody selves and let us starve."

Vayle placed two more bowls on the table before Arthur and Galahad. Lancelot walked about the room with his arms crossed over his chest, eyeing everything in sight. Gallius raised the bowl to his lips and drank. The meat was tough, but held the flavor of the spices it had been marinating in. He set the bowl back on the table and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. It was good. Much better than his mother's rabbit stew.

"Vayle, what are you doing here?" Gallius asked, watching the woman as she offered a bowl to Lancelot, who declined rather rudely. She thrusted the bowl into his chest anyways and walked away without a second look. She stood behind Gawain and Bors, hands on the backs of their chairs. "The last time I saw you, you were heading for Aquitania."

"Yes, but I came at the call of your sister, of course. A few years it's been now since I first arrived." She nodded her head at him once. Her eyes pierced him as though accusing him of something. "Things were gettin' along rather bad and she needed help. She needed someone on her side who wasn't so afraid to stand up against a Roman, much like herself. Strength in numbers, I suppose, or maybe because we share blood. I don't know."

There it was; the viper's bite.

Gallius felt the sting and met her glare, swallowing hard. She was angry with him for leaving Rhoswen behind; for allowing things to go to shit while he played soldier for the very men that killed his mother, burned her before his eyes, ruined his home, ravaged his native lands.

"Vayle–"

She raised a hand and silenced him before he could apologize. She thought for a moment about what she wanted to say and thought better of herself. She shook her head free of her thoughts and walked around the table to the cabinets that hung to the wall precariously.

"We are a bitter people these days, Gale. Forgive me. I do not mean to place guilt on your shoulders when you were merely a boy yourself." Vayle spoke gently, much gentler than Gallius ever remembered of his aunt. Gallius sat back in his seat and stared down at the bowl of stew. His eyes lifted and met the gaze of Arthur, who was unreadable.

"Lady, what happened here?" Arthur asked, pushing his stew back from him a bit. He was unused to the taste, but it had filled his belly as she had said it would. "When the Romans took control, I mean."

He looked over at her where she stood halted in her path. The cabinet lay open with one hand inside, her eyes seeing something in their dark reaches that wasn't truly there; a memory. She closed the cabinet slowly, placing the jar of honey liquid on the counter top.

"My lady? Please explain." Arthur came across rather short despite not having meant to. Vayle stared at him with hardened eyes, but he was not intimidated and neither was she. He was growing tired of the games, being pulled this way and that. He and his men had other issues at hand, a post to be reporting to. He needed a drink of whatever lay in that closed jar Vayle held so close to her.

"The elders assured their people the Romans would not conquer them when they arrived over the hill." Vayle's stare went out the window and deep into the woods where the hill sat. "But they did. They came in the night and slaughtered them like cattle; men, women, children, it did not matter. They were nothing to them."

Vayle's voice, aged and feminine, grew low as her thoughts became dark.

"When they were conquered, the elders assured the people that the Romans would mean them no further harm. They had made a deal with the Romans to try and keep their people safe. It was all a blasted lie. The Romans never kept their promises. The people here were seen as heathens, pagans who needed to be taught a lesson and the Romans believed themselves to be the ones to do it." She looked at the jar and wrapped a hand around it gently as though seeing the scene swirling around in the juice. She tapped a finger against the glass. "Marcellus brought with him assurances and laws and punishments for those who did not follow him."

"Don't you mean those who didn't follow the laws?" Gawain asked from his seat, wiping his mouth with his sleeve to rid of the lingering stew. He was hoping he had heard wrong.

"No. **Him**. Marcellus' laws; his tyranny; his madness. It was total bloodshed; a nightmare that I cannot forget nor forgive." She replied and shook her head. She closed her eyes and stood straighter, raising her chin up. "They burned people alive for treason and heresy, though they had no proof. Like your mother, Gale. They set her ablaze, alive at the pyre. I can still hear your sister's screams in my ears; can still smell the burning flesh of my sister, the wood as the fire consumed it all."

Vayle opened the jar and took a rather large sip, hissing at the bite. Gallius went still and all the knights' eyes rested upon him. He had only ever told Arthur of his mother's untimely demise. They had not known what happened to his mother or what had caused him to leave Celtica.

"Why become Roman if a Roman murdered your mother?" Bors asked, not truly expecting a reply from Gallius. The younger man did not meet his gaze and instead looked away in shame. He had an answer, but it was not very good. He didn't care about becoming Roman. He wanted an escape from this place and the Roman military had provided just that.

"Things calmed for a bit after you left. The blood debt was paid. The powers that be were satiated. But it's never enough. Power corrupts and Marcellus had no plans of letting the people go or moving on. All of this was his now for all he cared; his people, his slaves, his land." Vayle outstretched the jar to Gallius, who took it and drank. It was rotgut. A common alcohol found in these parts that would leave you blind if you weren't careful. He hadn't ever had something so vile that burned so good.

"Those who began to fight back again had their heads sliced from their necks and put up on pikes for everyone to see. Then Marcellus took his anger out on the children. He started with the older boys, taking them from their fathers and disappearing into the night. They haven't been heard from since. A preemptive strike so they could not one day rise up against him for memories of the madness. Then the girls…" Vayle fell silent, hands gripping the edge of the counter as she stared out the small window into the woods. Gallius wanted to ask, to push further, but he feared his voice would betray him. Vayle couldn't meet his gaze. "Marcellus has a special way of dealing with women who do not listen. It wasn't just your mother he ruined, Gale."

Vayle turned to look at Gallius, ignoring the presence of the knights. Her face softened as her heart bled before them; the girls; Rhoswen.

"One night, after Rhoswen had sent me a letter that things had begun to sour again, they came for the girls in the dead of night; the Celestials. Just them." Vayle drifted off, looking away. She was a strong woman and she reminded Gallius of his mother. The way she wanted to tell him the whole truth, but couldn't find the right words that would lessen the blow. His imagination ran wild with the silence.

"What are Celestials?" Galahad asked, breaking the long uncomfortable silence. He looked from Vayle to Gallius for an answer. "Priestesses or something?"

"They are seven girls born on the seventh day of the seventh month in the same year. Incredibly rare and our people believe them to have unnatural powers, but yes, they are respected like priestesses in other areas." Gallius explained and closed his eyes, trying to remember himself what the Celestials were and did. "They perform rituals and blessings and attend the birthings."

"Rhoswen is one of them." Vayle announced and took another swig of the rotgut. Gallius looked back to Vayle, who had yet to move from her spot. She was lost in her thoughts, her nightmares.

"Dammit, I knew she was a fuckin' saint or somethin'." Bors grunted and slammed a hand down on the table, causing his brothers to jump a bit. Bors turned and looked to Gawain, "Didn't I say that earlier? Bloody well knew it."

"Bors." Arthur's stern command was not lost on the man. Bors calmed, looked around and realized his outburst was more than inappropriate. Arthur looked to Gallius and then to Vayle. "Please, lady, continue."

"Marcellus had his soldiers take the girls from their beds. They were no older than twelve summers. Just children still. Hadn't even bled or anything yet." Vayle capped the jar and hissed, slamming her hands on the counter. "They brought them to the center of town. They stripped them naked, beat them bloody, broke their legs, and then they dragged them through the streets by their hair."

"No one stopped them?" Lancelot demanded and placed the untouched bowl of stew on the table. He crossed his arms over his chest and waited for a reply. "You all just stood by and let it happen?"

"Fear, dear knight, is a very powerful tool." Vayle turned around and met Lancelot's accusing stare. "It can control even the most defiant of persons and Marcellus knew just where to prod to ensure his cattle would not lash out."

"What did they do with them?" Gallius ignored the side chatter and shook his head. He only cared about one thing. His mind conjured unspeakable probabilities; rape, torture, mutilation… Vayle turned and looked at him. She moved to the empty seat and sat down, taking his hand in her own and squeezing it tightly.

"They took them to the hill and shaved their heads. Then they nailed them to the posts at the henge and left them for days. For days they starved and cried and burned under the summer sun, being eaten by parasites and insects. By the time I got here, Rhoswen and a couple of the others were damn near dead and passing through the veil. I buried two girls right then and there."

Gallius' hands clenched so tightly that his knuckles went bone white. Vayle's hand, caught in his vice, ached with pain. His hands shook with rage and with regret. Vayle placed her free hand on their entangled hold and tried to soothe him. Arthur took notice and eyed Gallius carefully before turning his gaze on Vayle, who narrowed her eyes at him. Did he expect her to console, say everything was alright? It wasn't.

"We are not all the same. Romans, I mean." Arthur's voice broke the long uncomfortable silence as he realized what her glare was for; him; Romans; Rome. Arthur leaned forward on the table and his voice grew low. "I assure you of this."

"Aye, I know." Vayle replied slowly as she turned her gaze on the fire in the hearth. She stared into the flames, their dance reflecting in her eyes. "I married a Roman soldier. Bore him two sons, but the Roman commander named Marcellus took his head and theirs for helping me take the girls down at the henge and giving them a proper burial."

She met Arthur's gaze. Neither faltered in their silent battle. Arthur was disgusted, ashamed, disturbed. Marcellus was no man of Rome. He was just mad and twisted. Arthur leaned back in his seat and ran a hand over his mouth.

"Is this how your God teaches? Murdering young boys? Torturing little girls?" Lancelot's words were soft and vicious as he walked behind Arthur's seat. The knight had anger towards the Romans, much like the Celts: Vayle observed. Arthur's eyes followed Lancelot's footsteps, face holding back his frustration.

"No apology nor offer of condolences will ever make up for what has happened here to you and to everyone else. However, I offer them anyway in the hopes that you do not place me amongst any Roman that has done you or your family injustice." Arthur didn't know what else to say. Vayle nodded her head, accepting his apology though she did not understand why he gave it. He had no part in her family's murder nor what happened to her people. She looked to the other knights, trailing her eyes from one to the next to the next. Perhaps they had seen horrors far beyond what she explained to them, she wondered. Perhaps not. Her eyes met Lancelot's stare, half hidden by dark locks and darker eyes. She could see the anger, the distrust. Not for her, but for the Romans as well. They understood one another in that moment.

"They are still alive, though." Gawain's warm voice broke through the cold silence. He looked from Galahad to Gallius and Vayle. "Why? Why allow them to live if they obviously pose such a threat?"

Vayle raised a single finger, seeing that Gawain was beginning to get it.

"How were they a threat?" Gallius posed the question at Gawain and looked across the table at him.

"Think about it Gallius." Gawain began and rearranged himself in his seat. He pushed his hair back and let his hands rest on the table. "These girls, your sister, were respected and thought to have otherworldly powers by your people. If Marcellus could rid of them, then what would be left? Your Celestials would be gone and with them rituals, blessings, customs you all use in daily life would disappear and the natives would be forced to assimilate. We have seen this before. The Romans actively use this scheme to make the people more obedient."

"But Rhoswen is like the wind. She will neither be contained nor controlled. No matter what." Vayle tapped a finger gently against the side of the hearth, nail echoing about the small cottage.

"Vayle?!" Rhoswen's voice called from outside the cottage as her footsteps approached quickly. A hand grabbed the door. "Vayle, would you happen have saved any stew for sir Dagonet?"

The door to the cottage opened as Rhoswen stepped inside. She looked at the table, seeing the bowls that were mostly finished and then she looked to the men. Her smile fell when she caught sight of their expressions as they peered back at her. Sorrow, sympathy, pain. Rhoswen's eyes darted from one knight to the next until they came to rest on Vayle.

Dagonet walked in behind Rhoswen. His eyes met those of his brothers and his thoughts began to run. What had happened? Why did they look so sullen?

"Did you tell them everything?" Rhoswen questioned quietly and then met her aunt's gaze, eyes meeting. Dagonet looked to Rhoswen and Vayle, watching as the older woman stood straighter and raised her chin. Rhoswen narrowed her eyes and looked to Gallius out of the corner of them. He sat rigid. Hands clenched on the table.

"Yes." Vayle eyed Rhoswen carefully. Something peeked out from under the younger woman's dress sleeve. Rhoswen watched as Vayle walked closer to her, taking one of Rhoswen's hands in her own and placed her free hand to her forearm. Rhoswen went to jerk away, but Vayle caught her. Rhoswen said nothing and only tried to jerk her arm away again. Vayle gripped her tightly, firmly and pushed up the sleeves of the dress Rhoswen wore to reveal the fresh bruises. Five perfect imprints of fingers wrapped around her wrist angrily.

"I knew this would happen." Vayle traced the markings gently with her aged fingers. "Did I not warn you? Did I not–"

"Vayle." Rhoswen's voice was small, but firm. It called the attention of the older woman and held it. "You should see them."

Rhoswen took her arm back, covering the handprints and placing a hand on the older woman's shoulder.

"You would think they would have learned some manners by now." Rhoswen tried for a grin. Vayle gave a small nod of her head and patted the hand on her shoulder. Gallius suddenly stood up, chair screeching as it slid back. He turned and stared down at Rhoswen, whose hand slide from Vayle's shoulder. She had never been intimidated by him before, but she was now. The fire in his eyes, the sternness in his expression, it scared her and forced her to take a step backwards.

"Why did you not write me? Why do you instead call on our aunt to aid you?" Gallius seethed with hands clenched at his sides. "I would have come. I would have helped. Do you think so little of me? Have I done something for you to have lost faith in me? Have I not always protected you?"

"I could not drag you into all this. It wouldn't have been fair." Rhoswen tried to make her voice soft in an effort to calm him. He had father's temper. It brought back memories from when they were children, suffering at the hand of their father. "You have other responsibilities now. More important responsibilities."

"You are my **only** responsibility, Rhoswen!" Gallius placed his arms on hers near her shoulders and shook her. He huffed through his nose like an angry boar. "You are my baby sister. You come first. You always have. No matter what. Before Romans and Gods or anything else. It is my duty to protect you. Always."

"I'm sorry." Rhoswen didn't know what else to say. The look in his eyes, the patronizing, intimidating, pained look brought tears to her eyes. "I didn't know what to do o-or who I could trust. I'm sorry."

"I should not have left." He pulled her into him and wrapped his arms tightly around her. He placed his chin on top of her head and squeezed her. "I should never have left you here alone as a child. Alone at _their_ hands while I went off to become a blasted Roman soldier."

"You didn't know what they would do, Gale." Vayle tried to console, seeing the hold he had on his sister. "No one did."

"I am sorry I left you behind. I should have stolen you away, kicking and screaming, rather than let you suffer at their hands." Gallius kissed her hair and pulled back, staring down at her again. He saw the bruises peeking out from under her sleeves. It made him sick. He thought of the story Vayle had told them and he felt sicker, angrier. His one duty was to protect his family and he had failed. How many times, how many men had touched her this way? Had left marks on her skin? On her soul?

"I wish Liam was here." Gallius found himself saying before he realized it.

"Do not do that." Rhoswen shook her head at him. Tears stung her eyes at the mention of their elder brother's name. "Do not compare yourself."

"He would **never** have left you." Gallius noticed more marks on her skin. A scar at her hair line by her ear. Fading bruises on her collar bone. "He would never have let _anyone_ hurt you."

"Liam?" Lancelot's soft questioned caught Arthur's ears as he walked closer to the table. Arthur met Lancelot's suspicious gaze and then turned his attention back to Vayle. She met their stare for only a moment, but ignored the questioning with ferocity.

"You cannot protect her from everything. Liam knew that. He understood that." Vayle spoke up as Rhoswen crossed her arms over her chest. She didn't like the way Gallius looked her over, trying to figure out everything that he had allowed to happen in his absence.

"I don't need to protect her from everything." Gallius raised his gaze in defiance. He watched Rhoswen for a long moment with a stern jaw. Then he switched his gaze to Vayle. "Just from two; Marcellus and father."

"Your father isn't the issue." Vayle corrected him. "Marcellus is the puppet master. He is pulling all the strings."

"We will cut these strings." Arthur stared at her from his place at the table. The family had almost forgotten there were others in the room. Rhoswen took the moment to shrink away and out the door. She didn't go far, but sat on the fallen tree in front of the cottage.

"This whole damn circus is about Celyne." Vayle's words floated to Rhoswen, who wiped her cheeks from the tears that fell. "Marcellus has beat your sister down, threatened her life..."

Rhoswen backed away, bumping into Dagonet who stood before the door. Dagonet caught her shoulders and held her where she was. She fought him and rounded him, heading out the door.

"Rhoswen, don't. Please!" Gallius shouted after her and trailed behind her. Arthur and his knights watched from afar as Gallius walked at his sister's heels. There was a lot Arthur did not know about this friend of his. He looked to the others at his sides. How much did he not know of them as well? Did they have siblings he knew nothing of? Strife and circumstances that had been left unfinished for the life of knighthood?

"Arthur," Lancelot walked up to Arthur's side, "we should heed the warnings and leave. This is not our place."

"You would ask us to abandon Gallius and his sister? A whole city of people under oppression?" Arthur stood straighter and stared at Lancelot. "Is that not our duty, Lancelot? Protect those who have no means of protecting themselves?"

"We have no proof." Lancelot growled and looked out the door at Gallius and Rhoswen. "Just the ramblings of a woman under stress."

"What do you want from me?!" Rhoswen's shout earned the immediate gaze from the knights, who looked for her in alarm. Dagonet stepped outside the door, but did not venture closer. They all looked to where she and her brother stood off by the path through the woods.

"Rhoswen please, stop." Gallius begged her, watching as she broke before him. He had grabbed her at the wrist and found bruises, dark and deep bruises. A man's touch.

"Just let me die with my honor still intact!" She roared, tears pouring down her cheeks. Gallius noticed the bruises on her collar bone, which peek out from beneath her shirt.

"What did they do to you?" Gallius felt a knot in his throat, fire in his chest and a stinging sensation in his eyes.

"Just leave, Gale!" Rhoswen began to crumple to the ground. Gallius held onto her wrists and watched as his sister, his strong rebellious sister, shattered. He fell to his knees before her and cupped her face in his calloused hands. She looked to him through red eyes. "I cannot do anymore. I cannot save them. Any of them. I cannot even save myself."

She closed her eyes and slumped forward into his shoulder. Her wrapped his arms around her and her cries softened, heaving slowing. Gallius looked to his friends without care that his eyes held tears or that his heart was breaking in front of them. Silently he begged them to help him, to help his people; help his sister.

Arthur looked to Lancelot. Their eyes were swept up in a silent argument. Then they both looked to the others. Gawain and Galahad looked to each other and nodded. Bors followed and Dagonet smiled to assure his position on the matter. Dagonet's gaze fell back on the siblings, on Rhoswen. Her face was covered by hair and tears, cheeks red and eyes squeezed tightly. She held onto her brother as though in his arms alone would she find shelter and solace.

Gallius suddenly picked Rhoswen up in his arms, cradling her head to his shoulder and her knees folding over his arm. She never released her hold as he walked back into the cottage and headed for the bedroom. She cried and cried, but her sobs had turned soft. Gallius closed the door behind him, allowing Vayle inside the room with them and placed her on the bed.

Outside the door, the knights stood around anxiously and looked from one to another. Dagonet closed the door to the cottage and looked to Bors.

"What a bloody mess." Bors scowled beneath his breath and ran a hand over his mouth. He shook his head and sat down at the table. Arthur looked around at his knights and noticed that Tristian was not among them.

"Gawain, Galahad, find Tristian would you?" Arthur commanded and the two nodded in agreement to him. They left the cottage and the others moved about, listening to the soft voices coming from behind the door to the bedroom. No one spoke.

Lancelot walked around the cottage, arms crossed over his chest and occasionally looking back at the bedroom. Arthur sat at the table with Bors as Dagonet sat by the hearth. He stared into the fire, recounting everything from the day and trying to uncover what he had missed. Bors walked over from the table and sat down on the ground across from his brother. Bors met Dagonet's stare and shook his head, not wanting to repeat everything that he and the others had been told. However, Dagonet's piercing hard gaze made him do the opposite. So he explained as carefully as he could, trying to hold back his side comments and scoffing.

They all sat there in silence for hours until it was nearly high moon. Gallius and Vayle inside the bedroom with Rhoswen, talking softly in their own language. Arthur and the knights sat about the cottage, discussing what they would do; could do. It was hours later that Gawain and Galahad returned with Tristian. The scout told them what he had seen, what he had heard.

The town was a locked fortress to the outside world. Marcellus ran everything from food supplies to executions. Tristian also told them about the graves he had come upon on the hill when Gawain and Galahad found him.

"There were small markers with wreaths of those red and pink flowers. Carved statues of their deities, fruits, pretty stones." Gawain recounted as he stood close to the fire. "I assume these were the graves of the girls; the Celestials."

Arthur nodded his head at the information he had been given. His eyes turned to the hearth and his mind become lost in the dance of the flames.

"No! Now I have to go." The door to the bedroom opened and Rhoswen stormed out. Her hair was disheveled and her eyes looked so heavy. "I am the healer. I have a duty."

"Rhoswen, please do not travel alone at night. Stay. Till dawn at least." Gallius called after her, but she did not listen. She stormed through the cottage to the front door and left without another word. Vayle caught Gallius' arm and held him back.

"Let her go." Vayle ordered gently, but Gallius rounded on her.

"You saw the marks all over her body. You see the pain behind her eyes. How can you allow her to be alone, with them running around out there?" Gallius shook his head at her and narrowed his eyes. "How can you just sit by and do nothing?"

Vayle said nothing to him. His words struck her much deeper than he knew. Gallius scoffed at her and turned away, heading for the door that Rhoswen had exited from. He knew the knights watched him as he walked away, but he ignored them.

"She is stronger than you realize, Gale." Vayle's words made Gallius halt in his steps, his hand hovering at the door. "She is the salt of the earth. She preserves and purifies us; you, me, our people… her people. She gives her life in order to see that **we** survive."

Gallius said nothing, but her words percolated in his mind. He opened the door and walked out, slowly closing it behind him. Vayle stood in her spot, hands clasped before her and then looked to the knights. She straightened herself, lifting her chin.

"There isn't much room, but you are welcome to stay." Vayle said nothing more and retreated to her room, closing the door. Arthur looked to his knights and nodded his head. It was going to be a long night and an even longer couple of days. Marcellus had given him, Gallius and Rhoswen a fortnight; just two weeks. Now they were down to thirteen days and they were nowhere closer to an answer.

Arthur looked around at his knights that were making themselves comfortable on the dirt floor. Scattered about were animal skins, but still the cold hard earth touched their bones and ached their muscles.

What would they do? Would one of his knights, his brothers, marry a girl for the sake of saving her life? Would they be so selfless?

"So who's the poor sod getting' hitched?" Bors' question caused the men to look around at the others as though trying to decide who would be the victim. "Though marrying 'er wouldn't be a bad price to pay."

Bors shot his brothers a small snarky grin. Gawain and Galahad gave a small laugh, agreeing with him.

"She is quite fair." Lancelot's lips curled into a devilish smirk as he came to rest on his spot on the floor. They all wished now that they had taken their supplies from their horses before leaving them at the stables.

"Fair? She is by far the most beautiful woman we have seen this far west." Galahad announced as he reclined himself back, head resting on his overlapped arms. No one said anything, but nodded instead in agreement.

"She's been hurt though." Gawain looked over at Galahad and then to the others. "How could a man, any honorable man, marry a woman in such distress for the sake of saving her life? Because she's beautiful? Because she's shapely?"

"She is an honorable woman. She is keeping to her end of the bargain; the rules Marcellus has installed. Despite his orders to his men to instigate quarrels with her." The words caught the knights off guard for it was Tristian who had spoken. He sat in one of the chairs, carving a block of wood into a shape that had yet to form. He held it back from his knife and looked at it in the glow of the fire. "I caught word of the villagers. They saw what the soldiers were doing to her earlier before Dagonet arrived, what they have been doing to her over the last several months. They all look up to her, see what she is doing and emulate it. They love her and Marcellus' actions are making her a martyr."

Tristian began carving again. Ignoring the looks from the others. When Tristian spoke, they listened because usually what he said was something that needed complete attention.

"What happened today?" Arthur's attention fell to Dagonet, who sat by the hearth with one knee bent and an arm hanging over it.

"When I came upon her the soldiers were picking a fight. Baiting her to strike. I ended it before it could begin, but had I not been there Arthur," Dagonet explained and looked to his commander, "I worry the soldiers would not have left it at words and a bruise on her wrist. I fear they would have pursued it further till she gave them a reason to exploit her in her restrained state."

Arthur nodded in understanding, "And at the Healing House?"

"She is a very skilled healer. Better than myself, I must admit. There were concoctions unbeknown to myself." Dagonet nodded his head at his words as he recounted her actions that day with those who sought her skills. "The people are her only patrons. The soldiers fear her touch and forgo seeking her out with wounds and illness."

"For good cause, I'm sure." Lancelot piped up and sat down at the table with Arthur. "She would probably poison them."

"I do not think so, Lancelot." Dagonet was quick to rebut.

"Oh really?" Lancelot turned full in his seat and faced his tallest brother. "Indulge us, brother. After the abuse and mistreatment, why would she not attempt some reckoning on these men?"

Dagonet said nothing and looked back at the hearth. Bors caught sight of the look that crossed his brother's face and looked around the room at the others.

"Her hands. They are too gentle; too soft for such wicked deeds." Bors spoke up and lifted his own hands, wiggling his fingers with a small smile. Dagonet said nothing, not wanting to speak on the matter and only side glanced at Bors. He was grateful for the defense and, yet, at the same time he still found it lacking. Rhoswen, as mentioned over and over by the people in town and her aunt, would not take the treatment lying down. However, to hurt someone through her healing medicines would go against everything she was. She walked a thin line, balancing between her two evils; acquiesce or resist. She chose the lesser of the two.

"There were many who came to her with wounds not of their own making, Arthur." Dagonet spoke finally and turned his gaze back to his commander. "Marcellus is having them whipped with nine-tails, removing fingers for stealing, poking out eyes."

"How do you know this?" Arthur asked as he leaned back in his seat. He let his left arm rest on the table as the right lay in his lap.

"The wounds are distinct enough. However, the people, in the Healing Houses they find shelter and safety. They discuss what has been done to them. Of all the people in the town, Rhoswen would never betray their trust. She knows their suffering, feels it herself." Dagonet explained as Arthur looked to the small window beside the door and watched the dark trees that glimmered in the moonlight. It was nearly full. A week or so and it would be complete.

"What are we going to do Arthur?" Gawain asked from his seat on the floor, knee bent to his chest and arm hanging across it. His question caused the others to look to their commander for orders, leadership, a clear path. Arthur said nothing and ran a hand over his mouth as he thought for a long moment.

What could they do? Marcellus wasn't playing fair. He placed the people under laws that even his own men did not follow. He terrorized children and the elderly. Inflicted God awful punishments. Other than giving Marcellus exactly what he desired, Arthur had no other plan of action. They needed more info, more ammunition before they could plan a course of action.

"For now, we play nice and follow his rules. We take a day or so to see the situation in town through our own eyes. Then we go from there." Arthur surmised. He had no better plan of action at the moment. He needed time, they needed time. Surely something would come to light that would solve the whole situation.

"Who is Liam?" Galahad's question broke the silence as he sat up on his elbows and looked to the others in bewilderment. They shook their heads for no one knew the mysterious man. Arthur looked back out the window and stared out into the night. He had never heard the name mentioned before. If he was so important to Gallius, then it was a grave secret that neither of the siblings had ever anticipated allowing anyone to know of. It made the two ever more curious.

"Everything about this place is wrong." Lancelot grumbled as he leaned back in his seat, elbow on the table and hand to his lips. Arthur looked to his friend, agreeing with him silently. Everything about the town and about this situation was indeed wrong. It was times like these that called in to question Arthur's faith. Children being abused and murdered. The elderly mistreated and women mutilated. Why would God allow such cruelty? Such evil…

"Tomorrow I want you all to fan out and observe. Find out whatever you can about this place." Arthur ordered and stood from his seat, pushing the chair in. He moved to the floor, back against a wall and sat down to close his eyes.

"What are you going to do, Arthur?" Dagonet asked from where he sat so close to the flames. He turned his head and the glow warmed his features, hiding the scar that ran from his left brow to his cheek.

"I will go and talk to this Marcellus." Arthur explained as he tried to make himself comfortable. He lost his gaze to the dancing flames, their visage reflecting in his eyes. "I want to know the man who makes me question my faith so."

The look that crossed Arthur's face was that of a man going to war. The knights looked away, met each other's stare and then settled themselves into their chosen spots on the floor. Lancelot, who sat in his seat, looked to his friend. He studied the look in his eyes, the hard expression on his face and then turned away. He stared out the same window Arthur had and clicked his teeth behind his lips.

He wondered what kind of battle this was and what were they exactly fighting for. People they had no ties to and hardly knew? Their brother in arms, whose people were being subjugated by the very same colors he had dawned? A woman, beauty with no comparison and a heart that had hardened from breaking, who was looked up to by these people, by her brother and aunt, who seemed to have touched Lancelot's own brothers in a way with only a few gentle smiles?

That worried him. He loved women and he even like this woman too. However, the situation was tricky and women in her position usually had dastardly schemes of their own making. What were hers? Was she truly a saint, as Bors had referred to her as earlier? Or was there something lurking in that broken heart of hers? A devious plan of her own…

Lancelot looked to his brothers. They had all settled down; all but one. Dagonet sat in his place before the hearth with a knee up and arm hanging across it. He stared into the red and orange glow of the flames as they danced across his face. He sat calmly enough, but Lancelot knew he was in deep thought; a thinker of the group. But what was he thinking? He had spent hours of the day alone with her, seeing how she acted with the people, how she acted without prying eyes. Did he too believe she had ulterior motives? Or was Lancelot wrong?

Lancelot scoffed at himself and turned away from the taller man, brooding over the flames. He picked himself up from the table and moved to the floor by the backdoor. He laid himself down and closed his eyes as a war raged in his mind. He hated fighting other people's battles. He hated that he was forced to. He just wanted to go home; be free.

"That is what they want too, Bors." Dagonet's voice caught Lancelot's ear. He opened one eye and watched the blood-brothers as they talked quietly. "They want their freedom back from the Romans who have stolen it."

So they were thinking that same things – Lancelot thought as he tried to listen closer to their conversation. Bors looked at the fire and then shook his head.

"She told you this?" Bors rebutted and narrowed his eyes at his younger brother. Dagonet shook his head from side to side slowly, eyes never moving from the hearth.

"She did not have to. I could see it in her eyes when the soldiers cornered her and then again at the Healing Houses when she handed me the Sea Daffodil."

"A woman hands you a flower from home and you instantly know what she's feelin'? Did you drink somethin' odd when you went along with her? Perhaps a potion?" Bors jested with a straight face.

"These people need our help, Bors." Dagonet met his gaze, seriousness claiming his expression as the fire danced in his eyes. He said nothing more to his older brother and then looked back at the fire.

"These people? You mean **her**." Bors grumbled under his breath and looked around the cottage. He was unused to seeing his brother in such a state. If he didn't know any better, he would have said Dagonet was smitten. But alas, no, the idea was too preposterous. Gawain or Galahad, perhaps. Not Dagonet. Not the strong, quiet knight who kept to himself. Of course, Bors knew Dagonet had taken women to bed and had cared for them. Dagonet was no Lancelot, but what was so different about his woman to make his brother so keen to wanting to save a whole town?

"Why you care so much?" Bors finally asked, tired of the silence. "What does it matter if we help these people or not?"

"It is our duty." Dagonet replied simply. He did not understand what Bors had meant. "Children are being beaten and murdered. Women are being raped and mutilated. A whole town suppressed by fear of a mad man, who only wants to see it burn."

The two fell silent, staring at one another. Bors realized that everything he had told him, everything he had missed while away with Rhoswen that day, had sunk in a bit too much. His brother, Dagonet, was a good man and a good fighter; decent, honorable, reliable.

"Your honor and sense of duty is going to get me killed one day, Dag." Bors pointed a finger at himself and scowled in a mocking tone. "Then you will have to deal with Vanora and all my little bastards back in Britannia."

Bors grumbled some more about children and women and their witchcraft, overtaking the minds of men, and then laid down on the ground.

"You're goin' soft, Dag." Bors announced before he turned his back to the hearth and his brother. "You need to toughin' up before we get back to our post. The Woads will eat ya alive."

Dagonet said nothing in response and only stared for a while longer transfixed by the flames. It was as though they might endow him with some kind of secret knowledge. He could not deny that the woman who had handed him a piece of home, who had not seen him as a giant with scars, had made an impression on him. The people at the Healing House had also made an impression on him as well as the hungry children who had eaten strawberries with grins.

He was soft. People in pain, women unable to protect themselves, children living in fear; oh yes, he was soft to their strife. It was hard not to be and he did not understand how his brothers were not so drawn to the pleas of these people, of these children. They were knights. Yes, staying here would push their return home back. But what was two weeks? A blink of an eye for them.


	6. A Fighter

}{-Milk and Honey-}{

Rhoswen laid on her back in bed, staring up at the wooden beams of the ceiling as the sun washed over her face. The covers rested beneath her arms, pulled up to her chest and taunt. She had not gotten much sleep. Her mind reeled at everything that had come to light in the conversation between Vayle and the knights, her brother.

 _Gallius…_

Rhoswen sighed heavily and shut her eyes, licking her lips in a nervous habit. She rested her hands to her forehead, the base of her palms pushing against her skull. Her brother was so mad and so distraught over everything that had happened to her and to the others. She had not wanted him to have learned that way or at all. She would have taken the secret to her grave to spare him any pain.

He had followed her all the way back into town from Vayle's, calling after her and giving her a lecture. She had simply ignored him and had gone straight home, slamming bedroom door in his face. He had waited outside her door for hours before finally relinquishing and padding away to find a bedroll in the main room. She had not come out of her room since. The entire night she had paced about her room and when she could no longer walk she tossed and turned in her bed.

Rhoswen opened her eyes and squinted against the rays of the sun. She turned her head to the left, hair sticking to her face and looked to the long, thin window beside her bed. A nice breeze flowed into the stuffy room and she could hear voices and footsteps floating along with it. It was the bustling of her town long since woken; midday she guessed. It was going about its day while she laid in her bed, wishing she could disappear. But she couldn't and wouldn't no matter how long she laid there nor how hard she wished. She had a duty to her people and to herself and she would see it through.

She sat up, throwing the covers off of her and swung her legs out of bed. She sat there a moment, staring about her room at the organized chaos and then stood. She moved to the small wooden desk and pushed in the chair, gently touching several parchments that laid scattered on top. Her hand rested on a certain parchment that held the signatures of all the elders clearly legible at the bottom and one who was not an elder; Marcellus. It was her own copy of the agreement between Marcellus and the elders of what to do with her. Her eyes locked on a certain portion. It was a piece of the decree that had haunted her for weeks, kept her up at night tossing and turning, mind reeling, memories flooding her dreams…

… _forfeit her life and take to the pyre in the center of the city, at which time, she will be burned alive for heresy, rebellion, theft, sabotage, promiscuity, and murder. As is decreed by the elders of Caleti and the Roman commander, Marcellus._

Rhoswen pushed the parchment away, hiding it beneath he others lying there and turning away from the desk entirely. She gritted her teeth, clenched her jaw and shook her head at the idea the parchment stood for. Forcing a knight into a marriage with her, a knight they wish to be abusive so as to put her in her place; a lowly woman who has spent her entire life speaking out of line.

Rhoswen brushed her hair off her shoulders and stood before the long window. Her home, the Healing House, sat awkwardly on top a hill. The main room sat at the base while her bedchamber resided at the tippy top, protected by a long hall, stairs and a strong wooden door. Her window had at one time allowed her to see clearly to the woods. She could have seen the smoke from Vayle's hearth had the Romans not raised stone walls around the town. Now all she saw were treetops and stone and Romans, who walked their walls with their spears and shields and swords. She shook her head again, eyes following two soldiers who were out on their rounds through the streets.

It was so hard these days for her not to suspect anyone and everyone, every man, of wishing her and her people harm. These Roman soldiers, Marcellus, had ruined it for every other who tried to earn her trust. She was biased and scorned. If they were not Celt, then they were not worthy of her trust and admiration. She was not even sure she could trust her own brother, which brought her pain and uneasiness. He had left as a young man, not even twenty summers old, and had lived amongst Romans, dined amongst Romans, learned Roman ways… she wanted to believe him Celt, but was that truly where his heart lied? Could he separate himself, his Roman and Celtic halves and see reason? Would he choose her?

Rhoswen leaned on the side of the window and crossed her arms over her chest, laying her head against the side. Her hair fell down her backside to her mid-back and she pushed it behind her ears. She laid her palms flat against her cheeks and took in the morning sun as it rained down in golden rays upon her. It was so warm and welcoming after such a long winter. She had nearly forgotten how much she cared for its soft kisses on her skin.

She heard the sound of footsteps and opened her eyes, catching sight of a group of children running by. They laughed and played as they went, teasing each other and tossing some torn bread between them. They too were enjoying the good weather.

Something else caught Rhoswen's eyes. A man, tall with broad shoulders and a scar that swooped his face, walked through the streets with sword adorning his side. He was not Roman though. He was Sarmatian. She watched him as he hey strode by with Vayle leading him. Vayle had fists full of her dress, raising it so that she didn't step on the fabric. She was on a mission and that mission ended beneath Rhoswen's window. Rhoswen fell back from the window quickly in the hopes that she had not seen her.

"Rhoswen! Are you up yet, girl?" Vayle's called out from the street. Rhoswen moved to the chest at the bottom of her bed and pulled out a green dress, flinching when another shout came from outside her window. "I know you are in there! Gallius said you have not left since last night!"

Rhoswen looked to the window with dress in hand and sighed. She couldn't meet their gazes. Their pitiful, sympathetic stares that made everything worse.

"Rhoswen!" Vayle stood in the street, right below the window, with her hands on her hips. She wore a crimson dress embroidered with gold trims. She was heading to council and thus needed to look proper. Her hair was braided and piled on her head intricately; prim and proper.

"The elders are meeting this morning. Artorius has called to meet with Marcellus." Vayle announced as she lifted her chin proudly. She noticed several of the Roman soldiers had quieted their chatter and looked her way. Vayle took them in silently, head never turning, but eyes landing on each and every one. "Sir Dagonet is to accompany you again this day and help you tend to the sick and ailing. Perhaps each of you may learn a bit from each other."

Rhoswen didn't like that Vayle had taken the liberty of assigning her a body guard. No matter how one phrased it, that was exactly what he was. He was tall, broad shouldered, had a stern resting face, and carried himself as a man with purpose. He was a man most others cowered from and avoided. Of course she would want him looking after her like some defenseless child.

Rhoswen walked to the window with the dress folded over her arm and leaned out slightly. She stared down at the older woman with a pensive gaze that expressed her dismay, her suspicion, her distrust in these men that she knew nothing of. Yes, they were knights. Yes, they rode with her brother. Yes, they were not Roman by blood. However, like her brother, they had grown up with Romans and Roman ideals; had fought alongside Romans, bled for Romans.

Dagonet's words from the day before resounded in her head:

" _I am a Sarmatian knight in bondage to the Roman Empire... I am caught by this chain they enslave me by until it is finally and forever broken. The same as you."_

"My lady," Dagonet spoke up, his eyes never trailing away from her steady gaze, "by my honor as a knight."

He bowed his head slightly, hand resting on the hilt of his sword and then looked back up at her. Vayle could see the contemplation, feel the inner struggle from her niece. Rhoswen was trying to decide whether these men, these knights, were worth her trust; worth risking being burned yet again. Dagonet, as Vayle turned her gaze to him, was understandingly trying to earn it despite her resistance.

Her niece had been such a happy girl; smiling, laughing, loving; so kind and gentle. Until the Romans invaded. Until they conquered and brought the town and its people to ruin. Neither Marcellus nor anyone else may have seen it, but Vayle did and she suspected Dagonet was beginning too. Rhoswen was broken and scarred, but she was not yet bested. She was like a phoenix from the fire, rising each time she was stricken down and bursting with new life.

"Tell me, sir Dagonet," Rhoswen spoke up and leaned a bit further out the window, hands resting on the small ledge. If she outstretched and he did as well she bet they could just touch fingertips, "are you Roman or are you Sarmatian?"

Vayle was confused by the question, but the look on Dagonet's face told her that he understood. His expression changed, a fire burned in his eyes as he stood straighter with his chest puffed out from worked muscles.

"Which do you believe me to be?" He countered quickly as though they were drawn into a swordfight of their own. Rhoswen stared at him for a long moment.

"I guess we will have to find out." She parried and then nodded once before disappearing from the window. Silently she had agreed to Dagonet's watch over her. Vayle turned from the Healing House and looked to Dagonet.

"She likes you." Vayle patted him on the arm and then looked back up at her niece's window. "Keep any wolves that come scratching on her door at bay."

Dagonet bowed his head slowly in understanding. Vayle was about to turn and walk away, but she halted and turned back to him.

"That sea daffodil you talked about with your brother, Bors was it…?" Vayle gave his arm a small squeeze in a reassuring manner. "A beautiful, delicate thing that flower and yet somehow it has managed to flourish in such a hostile, inhospitable environment for so many years. Despite war or threat it thrives because there are some who understand its beauty and its meaning."

Dagonet narrowed his eyes slightly as he tried to discern the connotation behind her words. Another squeeze on his arm gave him his answer. Vayle looked out at the Roman soldiers that walked about with swords and armor and shields. She then looked up at the tall knight whose face was stern, but eyes soft and kind. Kindness was something she and Rhoswen had not seen in a foreigner for quite some time. He and his brothers could be the turning point for them. She only hoped that they understood that and acted on it like Dagonet and Arthur were.

"Nothing shall happen to her under my watch, lady Vayle." Dagonet gave a bow with his hand on the hilt of his sword.

"Thank you, Sir Dagonet." Vayle gave a small almost sad smile and turned away again, walking towards the main building in town where the elders resided, where Arthur was meeting with Marcellus. Dagonet looked up at the window where Rhoswen had disappeared from and then looked around the street. The soldiers watched him with steady eyes and an ill disposition. He looked to the window again where Rhoswen had once stood, leaning out of it with her white-blonde hair blowing in the breeze. How easy it would be for one of these soldiers to scale the short wall and break-in. His eyes followed a small group of soldiers as they passed by him, grumbling under their breaths as they went.

He walked away and headed for the entrance of the Healing House. Upon entering he found Gallius inside and on his bedroll.

"Ah, Dagonet!" Gallius greeted as he sat up on his bedroll. He pulled a knee up and rested his left arm over it. "Was that Vayle I heard screeching?"

"Yes." Dagonet replied simply and walked further into the main room. They were alone for the moment with neither patients nor Rhoswen.

"Bloody woman could wake the dead with that call. Was she talking to Rhoswen?" Gallius asked and stood from the ground. He stretched his back and watched his brother move towards the door that led into the hallway. He peered down it and spotted a door that was a jar with a staircase peeking out. He wanted to ask, but thought better, already assuming that the door led to Rhoswen's room upstairs.

"She was informing Rhoswen of the decision to have me accompany her again today." Dagonet explained and moved to the table at the back that had the crate from the day before resting on it. The contents were a bit sparse, having used most of the supplies in it with the influx of ill and wounded.

"Good, good. I assume she was not exactly pleased though." Gallius crossed his arms over his chest and nodded his head, starring off at the ground. "Blasted girl is so stubborn. So proud."

Dagonet noted how much Gallius and his sister resembled each other. Their face structure, their coloring, their movements and tendencies. He swore they were twins despite knowing better.

"Not so much. She accepted it though." Dagonet explained and looked around the main room of the Healing House. The windows had not been opened yet and there was a strong scent of ash that hung in the air. Dagonet looked back at Gallius. "Vayle went to join the elders."

"And the others? Where are they?" Gallius looked to the entrance to the Healing House, half expecting them to pile inside.

"They are trying to better understand the workings the Romans have on this town and its people." Dagonet leaned back against the table and half sat on it. He crossed his arms over his chest and crossed his ankles. He looked down at the ground and spotted several bloodied bandages from the previous day. He noted them, assuming that Rhoswen had come home and had gone straight to her room to avoid her brother, who Dagonet knew could be a bit relentless at times.

"Good luck with that task." Gallius breathed out with a small laugh. "This place was hard enough to understand before the Romans invaded. Hell, I never truly understood it and I grew up here. They have been tasked with the impossible."

Gallius laughed again and opened a window near him, sitting on the small ledge of it with his back up against the side. Dagonet shared in his brother's jest. The laugh reached his eyes, a row of pleasant teeth peeking out and cheeks rising to make his eyes squint slightly. His shoulder rocked a bit with each low chortle.

"You have a nice smile and an even more agreeable laugh." A voice caught both men off-guard. Rhoswen stood at the open door to the hallway, hands clasped before her and hair braided and wrapped around her head. A common style for milk-maids, but effective for keeping hair at bay while she worked. The green dress she wore clung to her shapely form. She stared at Dagonet, who stood up from the table and faced her. He stood straight and his smile dissipated, stern stare returning.

"And then it was gone." Rhoswen questioned silently why he returned to his statuesque form; no smiling, no laughing, just stern resolve. Was it because he did not know her? Because he was a knight and wanted to keep face?

"Rhoswen," Gallius began and took a step closer to her tentatively, "how are you feeling? I worried you might never leave your room."

"I am quite well despite your insistence to drag things on last night. Should you not be with your commander?" She questioned and moved to the table. She took hold of the crate and rested it on her right hip, turning to look at her brother. "I hear he has called an audience with Marcellus today to discuss the situation. Seems he is a man of action and not just words."

"He is meeting with Marcellus? Now?" Gallius looked to Dagonet and then back at Rhoswen. "I had no idea. I came here, slept here in case you would need me. I had no time to ask Arthur his intentions."

"You should probably go then. Listen to the hogwash father and Marcellus have crafted to damn me like mother." It was all she needed to say to get him to act. As he raced for the door, she headed into the hall with the crate on her hip. She walked into the store room and began filling it up with the basic medicinal herbs and potions. She heard Dagonet's footsteps approach, but did not turn to face him. He leaned on the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest and watched her as she filled the crate with this and that.

He watched her hands, small and delicate, as they reached out towards a high shelf. He watched as her body elongated, dress taut over form as she got on tiptoes and extended her fingers as much as she could to reach a small crate. She pulled it down and rummaged around in it. Her eyes carefully examined the contents, flicking here and there behind long eyelashes. She pulled out a jar of dried lavender. He watched as she raised it to her nose and took a slow inhale of the sweet fragrance, closing her eyes and smiling softly.

"You know there are some who would find staring a rather rude custom." She spoke up finally, unable to stand his stare any longer. She set the jar in her larger crate and then got on tiptoes again to return the smaller one to its place on the shelf. She turned her back to Dagonet and searched another, lower shelf for some salves she had hidden.

"I apologize, my lady. I was merely observing your ways and trying to learn." Dagonet's voice, deep and resonating, sent a shiver down her spine. She stood and looked to him, salve in hand. There was something in his eyes, a glint, a meaning; one she could not discern. Dagonet walked forward and took the salve from her, opening the lid. He raised it to his nose and took a short sniff. He pulled it back and looked at it. "Lavender and lemon? An interesting mixture."

"Yes, well, it does not have any real medicinal uses, but the fragrance calms me. It allows me a clear head to work." Rhoswen explained and narrowed her eyes at the knight and questioned what he was playing at. She took the salve that he handed back to her and looked at the contents. Small twigs of lavender peppered the salt that smelled strongly of lemon. Rhoswen placed the salve in the crate and then picked it up. A pair of strong hands, scarred and a bit calloused, took hold of the crate. Rhoswen noted the scabbing skin on a wound that stretched from beneath his sleeve to his fingers. It was fresh, merely a few days old.

Dagonet watched as she examined his hand. The cut from a dagger of a man who had not taken lightly to orders from a Sarmatian knight. He tugged the crate gently from her grasp to avert her attention from his scars. Most were reddened and ugly. No sight for a lady such as she. Even if she were a healer.

Rhoswen looked up at him, noting the scar on his face once again. It was faded, but she imagined it had hurt a good deal. From his brow to his cheek it stretched. She found herself wanting to reach out and run her fingers over it; was it raised or had it sunk in? She halted and instead moved to a shelf behind her, pushing aside bottles and boxes until she found what she wanted.

"Why are you being so kind to me?" She asked as she stood up, opening a small vial of a yellowed liquid. It had a sharp, camphoraceous scent that was also warm and inviting.

"I do not understand what you mean, my lady." Dagonet replied and watched as she tipped the vial, withdrawing several drops of the liquid. She set the vial down and rubbed her hands together to disperse it.

"You are no fool, Sir. You understand perfectly what I ask." She took his hand, he was easily able to hold the crate in one alone, and began massaging the oil into his skin. It was warm from her tender hands that worked to mend his damaged flesh. "Would your brothers have taken my charge as easily or as willingly as yourself? I dare say not."

Rhoswen sighed exasperated and shook her head at his silence. Dagonet watched intently as she continued her ministrations. She kneaded his hand harder to try and relieve some of the tension she felt. He knew exactly what she was asking him. Why was **he** so kind to her? Ever since he and the others appeared he had never given her a harsh eye or an unkind word. Why? Because he was a knight? No… his honor as a knight had nothing to do with it, but perhaps his kindness stemmed from his personal being; who he was before Rome claimed him.

"You do not deserve their wrath." He spoke honestly, voice softening and lowering so as though only her ears might hear his words. Rhoswen's hands slowed and then ceased movement altogether. She stared blankly at their hands as her mind drifted.

"How do you know…?" Rhoswen's voice betrayed her and he could hear her despair, her confusion. Her eyebrows knitted together as she pondered. She drifted far away into her thoughts, eyes seeming to haze as she became lost to the memories. Her expression softened, grew melancholy. "Perhaps I _am_ as wicked as they say. We reap only what we sow."

"Why do you say that, my lady?" Dagonet stared down at her, watching her downcast eyes hold steady on their hands. He looked her over quickly and scrunched his nose and mouth. What had she sown that could have earned her such a harsh harvest?

"I should have left a long time ago, Sir Dagonet." She looked up at him and gave a sad smile as she thought about all the choices she had made in her life. He could see the regret and the guilt as it washed over her. She looked at the crate in his other hand and her smile fell. "I should have left while I still had the chance. I have doomed myself."

Dagonet wanted to ask her what she meant, but he felt he already knew. He knew there was something more, something deeper. He was not blind. He could see the pain, the strife. He did not want to be the one to ask more hard questions, drudge up more of the past that haunted her so. Instead, he took his hand from hers and placed it on her upper arm, so close to her shoulder that his thumb touched her collar bone. He gave her a reassuring squeeze that was gentle yet firm. His thumb felt the warm, smooth skin of her collar bone as it grazed over it. The bone showed itself ever so slightly, crossing from beneath the hem of her dress and darting towards the base of her throat.

He had not known what else to do. These situations, women, were not his forte. The only contact with women he had normally were the wenches at the Roman taverns or the whores in the red districts. Noblewomen, townswomen, even foreign women such as Rhoswen, usually never paid much attention to him. He was quiet, reserved, and intimidating in more than one way. But she, Rhoswen, was not staring at him as though intimidated. Her eyes were sad, but there was also content.

 **Do I make her feel safe?** – he wondered as she placed a hand on his forearm. She was not pulling his touch away, merely offering her own. It seemed, to him, that she felt alone and trapped. Why? She had Vayle, her people, why then did she feel so alone?

"Thank you for your kindness." Her voice was soft and wavering as her eyes filled with tears. She tried her hardest to fight them, blinking against them and taking deep breaths. "I'm sorry it's just… I have to be so strong for them and lately I just can't seem to find the will anymore."

She had answered his question without him needing to ask her. She gave his forearm a squeeze and then removed his hand from her arm. She patted the back of his hand gently as it rested in her own and then smiled up at him, tears escaping her eyes.

"Do not be sorry. In all our lives there comes a time when we feel ourselves breaking, my lady." Dagonet breathed out. He had the urge to reach out his hand again and brush those tears away from her reddening cheeks. She quickly beat him and reached a hand up, ridding herself of the salty droplets.

"You may stop calling me that." Rhoswen breathed out, trying to cease her silent crying. His words had struck her. She could not break. She did not have the luxury. Not now. Not yet. She stood straighter and lifted her chin. "My name is Rhoswen and I am **no** lady."

Dagonet felt the corners of his lips quirk at this. He found it funny and endearing of the young woman, nearly half his age certainly, being so strong and so witty. She accepted the ridicule and wore it like a badge, picking herself up to carry on.

"Then what are you?" He found himself unable to resist. He briefly wondered whether, like the sea daffodil, if she were taken from her native home would she too find a way to flourish? Vayle's words from earlier wove themselves into his mind. She had been correct.

"I am a fighter." Rhoswen's words drew him back into the present. She stared up at him, tears gone, but cheeks flared and eyes burning.

"Good. Always remember that." Dagonet replied and then carried himself and the crate out the door. Rhoswen stood in the store room a moment longer, thinking about what he meant.

"Who is this man…?" Rhoswen breathed out under her breath and narrowed her eyes at where Dagonet had gone. Another moment went by and then she left the room, closing the door behind her. She headed for the main room and was greeted with the sight of a few townspeople. Dagonet had already begun gathering information from them; symptoms and wounds. Rhoswen watched him from the table that held her healing supplies and tilted her head slightly to the left as she leaned back against the table.

"Who is **he**?" A voice whispered to her right. Rhoswen spun her head to look at an elderly woman. She had salt and pepper hair and dark circles beneath her greying eyes. Rhoswen looked back at Dagonet and thought about the question a moment.

"I am trying to figure that out myself." Rhoswen replied finally and smiled at the elderly woman. She nodded her head and then looked back at Dagonet, who worked diligently.

"He is very tall for a foreigner." She piped up again and Rhoswen found herself looking back at Dagonet once more. She watched with a curious eye as Dagonet knelt beside a young boy, speaking gently to him and touching the boy's cut up leg with kind hands; large hands that she had held, that had held her only moments ago. She looked away quickly, turning her back as she felt her cheeks grow hot and rummaging in the crate. She felt a small hand touch her arm.

"You know, when I was your age and promiscuous, I always did like my men tall and strapping." The elderly woman spoke to her, surely seeing the blush on Rhoswen's face as she turned and looked at her. She hoped it was chalked up to her words and not the thoughts in Rhoswen's head. "They always knew just how to work their way around a bedroom. If you understand my meaning, dear girl."

Rhoswen couldn't help herself and gave a loud, hearty laugh at the elderly woman's erotic innuendo. Rhoswen's hand flew up and slapped onto her chest where her heart was as she continued. The elderly woman looked up at her with a mischievous kind of grin. Dagonet looked away from the wounds on the young boy's leg and at Rhoswen, whose face had lit up. Her laugh and her smile reached her eyes, cheeks so far up that her eyes were near slits. Her whole body shook as she laughed, the elderly woman beside her laughing along with her now. He did not care what had made her so happy only that he was pleased he had seen her in such a state. It was… becoming of her.

Rhoswen caught his gaze and smiled at him, her laughing beginning to subside. The elderly woman beside her looked from Dagonet to Rhoswen and then back again.

"I would let him share my bed." The elderly woman stated as Rhoswen looked down at her laughed again. "He has a rugged beauty to him; strong, tall… **big hands** and a very looong _sword_."

Rhoswen's mouth fell agape, not believing she had just heard what this woman had said. Her people were not shy about things such as this, but to hear it from someone so much older than herself was a pure, entertaining treat. Rhoswen shook her head and turned away again, unable to face Dagonet. She closed her eyes, continued to laugh and allowed the elderly woman to continue on.

"Is everything alright, ladies?" Dagonet's voice came from behind Rhoswen. She spun around, cheeks red with delight and looked to the elderly woman. Rhoswen couldn't not ignore the way the woman looked Dagonet up and down like a young woman smitten. Rhoswen tried to contain herself and nodded at Dagonet.

"Yes, sir knight." The elderly woman answered for Rhoswen and moved closer to Dagonet. She entwined her arm in his and caused him to look down at her. "We were just discussing swords and we couldn't help but notice just how long your sword is."

Rhoswen bit her tongue so hard she thought she might draw blood. The elderly woman had such a straight face with the smallest impish smile. Dagonet looked from the elder woman on his arm to Rhoswen, who tried her hardest to meet his gaze. She clasped her hands before her and smiled, trying not to laugh again.

"I'm uh," she began and then cleared her throat, "I'm going to go meet with some of the patients."

Rhoswen excused herself, smile growing into a grin. She heard the elderly woman talking to Dagonet once more, "I would very much like to see your long sword, dear knight."

Rhoswen slapped a hand to her forehead and continued walking until she reached the furthest point from the two in the room. She sat down beside a bedroll and looked over the woman who was only a few years older than Rhoswen. They shared a look, both knowing what the other was thinking.

"Perhaps you may take me home and show me there?" The elderly woman's voice flittered across the room and Rhoswen tried her hardest to ignore it as she worked. Oh what an interesting day it was turning out to be…


	7. Liam

}{-Milk and Honey-}{

Gallius stalked through the main doors, held open for him by the Roman soldiers who stood guard there. The Main Hall was empty apart from some familiar wood sculptures his people had crafted and the Roman influences that were slowly taking over completely. Gallius shook off his distaste and headed straight for the Hall of the Elders. The same room he and the others had met Marcellus before when they had first arrived. It had been two days now that they had been here. Only twelve days left before Marcellus sentenced his sister to death if she did not marry a knight.

"Master Gallius!" Accalon called out from the other side of the Main Hall and he walked briskly towards him. His clothes had not changed from the day before, but he wore a deep bruise on the side of his face, a black eye and a broken lip.

"Accalon, what happened?" Gallius motioned towards the side of his face where the wounds resided. They were at least a day old, but the man had not had them when Gallius had seen him yesterday. "Those weren't there when we met before."

"I was trying to stop a Roman solider." Accalon grimaced at the memory and ran his fingers gently over the bruising. "A little girl was starving, like most of our people are these days, and she had stolen some bread. Thievery is rewarded with having the hand cut off."

Accalon did not need to say anymore. Gallius understood the laws Marcellus had put in place. Crime would be rewarded with violence; no matter the age the circumstances.

"You are alright though?" Gallius asked and placed a hand on the man's shoulder. He looked over the black eye, puffy and swollen. Accalon smiled and nodded his head.

"Yes sir, I am."

"And the girl?"

"I instructed her to seek refuge with your sister. She is her shadow these days." Accalon explained with a small laugh. Gallius removed his hand and took a deep breath, sighing as thoughts raced through his mind. He shook his head at his thoughts and looked back at Accalon.

"Arthur is meeting with Marcellus?" Gallius questioned and nodded his head towards the large wooden door that led to the Hall of the Elders. "And my father?"

"Yes. Your commander arrived as soon as the son had risen over the hill." Accalon replied and looked to the doors. "Marcellus and your father arrived a bit before yourself."

"I shall join them." Gallius announced and looked back to Accalon, who appeared leery of the idea.

"Are you sure, Gallius?" Accalon did not want to disrespect the man, the knight, but he knew what the conversation inside the hall was going. Gallius took no disrespect and instead nodded his head.

"She is my sister, Accalon. I abandoned her once. Never again."

Accalon understood and led Gallius to the doors. The soldiers, who stood guard there, watched with weary glances of the two men. Everything to them was black and white. Despite Gallius having given his life to the Roman army, he would forever be looked down upon by these men.

Accalon took hold of the door and opened it, stepping aside for Gallius to enter. Gallius entered the Hall of the Elders and spotted Arthur and Lancelot standing before the semi-circle of elders, who were beginning to rise from their chairs. Vayle gave a single nod to Gallius in greeting and then turned her eyes back to Gereon and Marcellus, who sat in the middle of them.

"You are a Roman, Arthur." Marcellus' words held a menacing tone. "You must understand."

"I understand that you have conquered these people and are oppressing them." Arthur replied as Gallius walked up beside him. Vayle and Gereon hung around as the other elders exited, closing the door behind them.

"Ah, young Gallius. Wonderful you could join us." Marcellus smiled at him, making his blood boil. Marcellus was the devil in disguise; handsome, tall, strong, but cruel.

"My question, Marcellus," Arthur began again as irritation overwhelmed him, "why has this one woman earned so much animosity?"

"She refuses to follow the laws set in place, refuses to follow her own elders." Marcellus motioned to the elders who sat on either side of him. "She is turning the people against me and my men. She is a rebel raiser and soon she will start a civil war that will leave this town in ruin."

"Rebel raiser?" Gallius voice betrayed him. His eyebrows knitted together as he stared at Marcellus. "What proof do you have?"

"Have you not seen the way the people look at your sister, Gallius? Surely, you are not so daft." Marcellus' words caused Gereon to turn his head, jaw clenched and biting his tongue. Gallius noticed as well as Vayle. "Your sister is a beacon to them. With her defiance and her status, she is raising an army of townsfolk against us. It is only a matter of time before she gives the command and they set themselves upon us."

"Army? What army? The people live in fear of you. They are too downtrodden to try anything against you because you only react with violence!" Gallius shouted.

"Your sister has led several of the skirmishes herself. She voices her rebellious propaganda openly in the streets, is teaching the young ones to fight." Marcellus countered, keeping his composure. Arthur turned to Gallius and placed his hands on his shoulders.

"Let me handle this." Arthur spoke softly, but sternly, meeting Gallius' gaze. Arthur turned back to Marcellus and stood straight, a hard stare on his face.

"Even if the people rose up, you have enough men and enough arms to subdue them." Arthur looked from Marcellus to Gereon and then back again. "Why fear something so implausible?"

"You don't know these people like I do, Arthur. You have not spent as much with them as I." Marcellus' eyes grew dark as he locked gazes with Arthur. "You do not know her as I do."

"So I have heard." Arthur gave a short, slow nod. His eyes quickly met Vayle and she narrowed her gaze at him. Some battle raging between them. Arthur looked back to Marcellus. "There are rumors that this is not the first time you have been here, Marcellus. That, many years ago, you had passed through with your legion as a legati."

"This is no rumor, but truth." Marcellus confirmed, but he tensed ever so slightly.

"I also heard that you had fallen for one of them." Arthurs words caused Gallius to look to Vayle, confusion setting in on him. Vayle met his stare openly as she straightened herself in her seat. Arthur took a step closer to Marcellus. "It was Rhoswen's mother; Celyne. You wasnted to ask her to marry you."

Gallius eyes shot to his father for confirmation. Gereon stared at his son, hand to his mouth as his elbow rested on the arm of his seat. It was true. Gallius could see it in his father's eyes.

"But you left before you could ask. You had orders and you followed them. They led you back to Rome and by the time you were able to come back she had already given herself to another." Arthur's eyes fell on Gereon, who could not meet his gaze. "She had borne him children, was in love with him and that drove you mad."

"You think you have it all figured out." Marcellus' lips curled at one side. His eyes grew ever darker as did his expression. "Don't you?"

"No. Just you." Arthur replied, not backing down from the battle. Marcellus rose from his seat and stepped down the small few steps to stand at Arthur's level. Lancelot's hand found the small dagger at his side, holding the hilt tightly. Gallius openly gripped his sword's hilt, pulling it up enough that the blade showed.

"You don't know me at all, Artorius." Marcellus gave a huff of a laugh, looking from Lancelot to Gallius. "There is much more to the story that I am sure Vayle would be more than willing to share. Given she has already shared this much with you."

Marcellus turned and looked at Vayle, who swallowed a lump in her throat, but did not shrink away from his accusation. He looked back to Arthur and smiled, but it was not a true smile. It showed that he had won this round. That he would not fall to idle threats. Not when he had all the power.

"I look forward to our next encounter." Marcellus looked at the three of them and then turned to walk away, Gereon at his heels. "Oh and just one more thing. I almost forgot."

Marcellus turned back with a devilish smirk creeping onto his face.

"The next we meet I expect to have a name to put on the wedding registry. Seeing as Rhoswen only now has ten days left. It would be a shame to allow such beauty go to waste on the pyre."

"Ten days?" Lancelot looked to Arthur and Gallius. Gallius shook his head and moved forward.

"She has twelve as of tomorrow. You gave her a fortnight." Gallius argued, hand gripping the hilt of his sword so tight that his knuckles went white.

"Did I say ten?" Marcellus looked back at Vayle and then at Gereon. "My mistake, young Gallius. The days are running together. I meant eight."

"What are you playing at Marcellus?" Arthur growled lowly, unamused by this general's games.

"I am playing at nothing, I assure you." Marcellus liked to see the anger, the flaring tempers. He watched Gallius carefully, his slow approach with hand on hilt and then met his gaze. He dared him to make another move. He would put the young man and his entire family in their place once and for all. Gallius relaxed, but his hand never left his sword. Marcellus looked to Gereon and snapped his fingers. Gereon quickly moved to a table at the back of the hall and picked up a parchment. He handed it to Marcellus, who looked it over and nodded his head approvingly.

"Ah, here it is. Clear as day." Marcellus folded the parchment back and looked to the three knights with a smile. He held it out to them and then made a disappointed, childish face. "Oh, shall I read it myself then? Very well."

Marcellus took the parchment back and cleared his throat in a dramatic fashion.

"As hereby decreed, Rhoswen Caratacos has been given a fortnight from the day this decree is finalized to marry a knight of Roman status in order to produce a treaty between Rome and Celtica. If not married within a fortnight after the decree is finalized, whether all parties have acknowledged the legitimacy of the decree or **not** ," Marcellus choice this point to look up and stare at each of the men before looking down once again, "then Rhoswen Caratacos, first of her name, daughter of Celyne and Gereon Caratacos, and chosen envoy of the Celestials, will be forced to forfeit her life and take to the pyre in the center of the city. At which time, she will be burned alive for heresy, rebellion, rebel raising, theft, sabotage, promiscuity, and murder. As is decreed by the elders of Caleti, the Roman commander Marcellus, and the embodiment of Rome itself."

Marcellus thrusted the parchment back Gereon's way and he took it, folding it back neatly. Marcellus' gaze fell on each of the three men. Gallius' gaze moved to Vayle, who met his stare with worry.

"This decree was finalized six days ago. Two days before you all arrived, I am afraid." Marcellus' voice brought Gallius back. He glared at the older general and fumed, readying himself to throw a punch; knock a few teeth out of his perfect smirk. "She has eight days. See to it that she makes the right choice."

Marcellus turned on his heels and strode away with purpose. Gallius shook his head and watched him go, his own father trailing behind like a beaten mutt. It was disgraceful, despicable. Vayle held her hands before her, laced together neatly as she stared down at the ground with sorrowful eyes.

"Eight days…" Gallius breathed out and ran a hand through his short white-blonde hair. He had no idea what they were going to do. It was a mess before when they believed they had a fortnight, but now it was worse. Gallius looked to Arthur and shook his head again slowly. Would one of his brothers in arms step up for him? For her…? How could he ever ask one of them to do that?

"Vayle," Arthur's tone had lost all nicety to it. He was done being strung around, done having himself and his knights, his friends played like marionettes. "What more to the story is there?"

Vayle met his harsh stare and licked her aging, weathered lips. She took a deep breath and huffed, shaking her head.

"Yes, there is much more." Vayle closed her eyes and shook her head again. Her thoughts were focused on her niece and her nephew who were paying the price for old sins. "Perhaps we should retire to my cabin."

"You will tell us here and now." Arthur demanded and she surrendered.

"Yes, Marcellus had been here before. Long before you were ever born, Gallius." Vayle began and moved towards her chair in the semi-circle atop the small platform. She sat and looked to the three men, who moved closer with open ears. "The thing is… Marcellus is not a man of Rome at all."

"What do you mean?" Lancelot's eyes narrowed suspiciously as he side glanced to Arthur. Vayle leaned back in her seat and sighed heavily.

"I warned your mother he was bad news. She never listened. Fool." Vayle snapped softly and raised an aging hand to her lips. "I knew there was something off about him. Ever since he was born."

"You have known him since he was born?" Gallius moved closer to his aunt, a weight gripping his gut. The hairs on the back of his neck rose up.

"Aye, I have known him that long." Vayle nodded her head and looked to the men once more. "I was an apprentice when he was born here; born a Celt."

The room fell uncomfortable silent. The reveal had hit Gallius in the face so hard that he thought he might crumble. He searched for words to ask all the questions that circled in his mind, but he could not find them.

"His father was a man of Rome, a socialite of some sort, while his mother was Celt. His father left her here with their son and returned to Rome, never coming back for them." Vayle looked from Gallius, seeing how hard of a blow this was to him, and looked to Arthur and Lancelot. "His mother killed herself when he was a boy and he grew up alone. My fool of a sister took pity on him, both of them being bout the same age. They went everywhere together, did everything together. It was no surprise when they fell in love."

"What?" Gallius finally spoke. He could not believe his ears. His mother loved that monster?

"Yes, Gallius. Your mother loved him dearly." Vayle nodded her head and looked to Arthur. "He did ask her to marry him and she agreed. Our parents were furious. They disowned your mother, Gallius, cursed her. So, when some Roman soldiers came through Marcellus elected to become a soldier so that he could steal her away, but that wasn't possible. Not until his training was complete. He left, left her, and went to Rome."

"But he came back." Arthur urged her to continue.

"Aye, he came back," Vayle began, "but it was too late. Celyne was forced to marry Gereon while Marcellus was out of the way. A marriage of convenience for our parents seeing as Gereon's family held a seat in the elder council. When Marcellus found out, he went mad. He killed our parents, good riddance, but then he turned on the town. He had figured out that while he was away–"

Vayle suddenly stopped herself and looked to the floor. She closed her eyes tightly, feeling tears spring forth and tried to compose herself.

"Vayle? What is it?" Gallius moved closer and knelt beside her chair. The older woman raised her head and looked to him, eyes red and cheeks flared. She patted his hand that sat on the arm of her seat and then gripped it.

"While he was away your mother gave birth to a baby boy." Vayle grew quiet again as tears raced down her cheeks.

"Liam, yes." Gallius nodded, but Vayle shook her head. He had not realized it yet and it was paining her to have to drudge up such a muddled history. Gallius knitted his eyebrows together as the worry grew inside of him. "Vayle?"

"Yes, Liam was born, but Gallius," Vayle looked him square in the eyes and swallowed the lump in her achy throat, "he is not Gereon's son. Liam is not your father's son."

Gallius looked between her greying green eyes and then stood up, stepping back. He shook his head at her with a nervous huff and turned his back. He licked his lips and swallowed hard, turning back quickly to meet her stare again.

"Please, please do not make me utter it…" Vayle said, hoping she would not have to say it; the thing she feared to reveal. Arthur looked to Lancelot, sharing stares. Vayle did not need to say it. Liam, Gallius and Rhoswen's older brother, was Marcellus' son; a love child.

"Where is Liam?" Arthur finally asked and Vayle's attention snapped to him. Her eyes were slightly wide and her mouth opened a bit, but nothing came out. Arthur took a step closer and placed on foot on a step of the platform. "Lady, I will ask again. Where is Liam?"

Vayle shook her head and closed her mouth. Gallius watched her. She was so… feeble, vulnerable, beaten. Just like Rhoswen. The women in his life, his family, were broken and all because of one man.

"I will show you." Gallius spoke up and looked to Arthur and Lancelot. Gallius walked down the few steps of the platform and headed for the door. Arthur looked to Lancelot and then back at Vayle, who sat crumbled in her chair crying softly. He and Lancelot followed after Gallius, who was striding away with purpose and conviction.

The doors to the Hall of Elders burst open and Gallius stormed out with Arthur and Lancelot behind him. Accalon stood from where he sat on a stone bench and watched, knowing that the meeting had not gone well. He hoped Gallius would look to him, but instead he just walked out of the building with Arthur and Lancelot at his heels.

Accalon rushed away and out onto the streets, heading to the furthest reach of the town. He spotted his destination and jogged through the open doors. There she was, standing beside a young man who sat in a chair with his back to her. She carefully looked over his wounds on his head and covered them with a thick salve. Her sleeves were pulled up and tied with leather straps and hair beginning to fall from its confinement.

"Lady Rhoswen!" Accalon called out and caused her to spin around. She stared at him, eyes wide from the distress she had heard in his voice.

"Accalon? What is it?" She asked as she moved closer, wiping the salve from her hands on a piece of cloth she had stuck between her dress and belt. Dagonet stood from where he knelt beside the elderly woman he had been tending to and walked to Rhoswen's side.

"Gallius." Accalon breathed out as he tried to catch his breath.

"He is with Arthur and Lancelot." Rhoswen placed a gentle hand on his arm and then noticed the state of his face. "What happened to you? Who did this to your face?"

"My lady, they are heading to the Necropolis." Accalon tried to explain as quickly as he could. "I suspect Gallius knows."

Rhoswen's face fell.

"Knows what?" Dagonet questioned and looked from Accalon to Rhoswen. She stared at Accalon a moment longer and then looked up at Dagonet.

"About Liam, Dagonet." She breathed out and looked to Dagonet with a face that expressed pain. Dagonet found his chest ached for her, heart wishing he could steal away her pain, protect her from it. He had not even realized that she had not called him sir. Just Dagonet. Just his name.

She was about to ask him to accompany her, but she did not need to. He gave her a single nod and motioned for her to lead the way. She ran out of the Healing House with Dagonet following behind her. His heavy footfalls were not lost on her as she streaked through town. She skidded to a stop when she caught sight of Marcellus and her father.

Dagonet came up beside her and saw the way she seethed with hard eyes. Dagonet stopped beside her and followed her harsh gaze to where Marcellus stood. He met her stare, but his held no anger, no contempt, just quiet resolve. It was an odd look for him, but Rhoswen did not care. She shook her head at him, silently vowing she would end his reign of terror and then tore off once more. Dagonet watched Rhoswen run, graceful and meaningfully. He then looked back to Marcellus. Their eyes set on one another, locking. Marcellus slowly turned his back on Dagonet and walked back inside the Main Hall with Gereon at his heels.

Gallius' pace was brisk, but not unyielding. The walk out of town was quiet and as they entered the woods, Arthur and Lancelot had a sinking feeling. They exchanged a look, that asked the other if what they felt was true. Gallius suddenly stopped at the edge of a clearing that was not a clearing at all. He took a deep breath and then continued forward until he stopped once more, taking a knee.

"This is Liam." Gallius nodded his head to the grave beside him. "Or what is left of him."

Lancelot looked from the grave to Arthur and then shook his head, turning away from Gallius. He strode a few steps away and looked around, realizing this was a cemetery. Arthur looked down on Liam's grave and then looked to Gallius, examining him.

Gallius played with a blade of grass and looked at the marker of the grave. It was a stone that had etchings in it done by himself. There were others, though, more remedial and childlike; Rhoswen's. A bunch of flowers sat before it, fresh and still full of life. Someone had been here recently.

"How did it happen?" Arthur asked as Lancelot walked behind the grave with arms crossed over his chest. Gallius looked down at the grass in his hand and then tossed it away. He stood and looked around at all the graves.

"Who do you think?" Gallius response was scornful. "He tried to pull our mother from the pyre. He got pierced in the back by Roman javelins and burned with her."

"Why would Marcellus kill his only son?" Lancelot questioned with doubt in his voice. He was not even trying to hide his disbelief.

"Because he didn't know Liam was his." Rhoswen spoke up and walked out into the cemetery with Dagonet at her side. She looked from Arthur to Lancelot and then lastly to her brother. She saw the sorrow, the confusion, the break.

"How did you know we were here?" Lancelot asked, looking from Rhoswen to Dagonet.

"Accalon." Dagonet replied and looked to Rhoswen, then turned back to Arthur. "We were at the Healing House when he found us."

"When did Marcellus figure it out?" Arthur turned to Rhoswen.

"He didn't. Not until someone told him." She explained and sighed heavily. She looked to her dead brother's grave. "Not until after Liam was already dead."

"Who told him?" Arthur questioned further. "How long have you known?"

He already guessed it was Vayle since Celyne was her sister and Liam her nephew. Rhoswen turned to him and shook her head with heavy eyes.

"Does it matter now? Liam is dead. My mother is dead. Yet, the man that killed them both and many others still draws breath." She replied, looking between him and Lancelot at his side. She crossed her arms over her chest, fingers curling around her arm. Gallius walked closer to her and stared down at her. She looked up with an apology in her eyes.

"Marcellus made it clear that by the next time we met, you have a betrothed in place. Within eight days." Arthur explained, seeing that the siblings wanted desperately to change the subject of their dead brother. "Did you know this?"

"Yes." Rhoswen breathed out as her eyes grew soft.

"Lady I cannot offer you my knights." Arthur began to explain, but she stopped him.

"Nor do I ask for one of them." Her words were soft, but they held a finality to them. She looked to Arthur and then to Gallius, shaking her head. "I cannot marry simply to save myself. Especially not if it is only to appease Marcellus. It would save my life, but my soul would perish and so would my people."

"Come now. Don't be so dramatic." Lancelot spoke up and moved up beside Arthur. His face held a mischievous smirk, but as Rhoswen looked to him she neither nodded nor shook her head. "To marry a knight is an honor most girls would be thrilled to receive."

"I am sure it is and perhaps, under other circumstances, I would be one of these girls. However, under **these** circumstances, I cannot marry any knight, whether he be honorable or not, in good conscience." Rhoswen stated as though it was simple.

"Marcellus will keep good on his promise." Lancelot tried to reason. He was unsure why he was trying to reason with her in the first place. Why did he care so much what happened to her or any one in town?

Rhoswen said nothing in response. She understood the weight of her decision fully and she was not about to change her mind.

"What do we do then?" Gallius finally broke free from his silence and looked to his sister. "If you refuse to marry, then what else can we do to spare you? Go to war with Marcellus and his merry band of misfits? Why can you not see reason, Rhoswen?"

"No, you will not go to war." She replied and looked around at them all. "You must do nothing."

"Nothing?" Gallius scoffed and stared at his sister incredulously. "You expect us to do nothing? Have you completely lost your mind?"

"Not nothing, Gallius, but if we cannot find another way please respect the decision I have made." Rhoswen watched as Gallius' demeanor changed. His face construed as he became angry.

"Never. I will burn the town to the ground if I must to ensure you are safe." Gallius stormed off into the woods and Arthur made to follow, but Rhoswen caught his arm.

"Let him go. He needs to be alone." Rhoswen released her hand from Arthur and let it fall limp at her side. She looked back at the three men and gave a sad smile. "Thank you for bringing him here."

"He brought us. He was bent on coming as soon as he had received the letter from Gereon." Arthur explained, understanding fully well why she was thanking them. It wasn't because he was here. It was because he was here **now** in time to say goodbye. "We will think of something, my lady."

Arthur moved closer and placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Thank you. I appreciate you and your knights' diligence." She gave another sad smile as he and Lancelot departed into the woods. Rhoswen stared at Liam's grave for a long time, becoming lost to the rest of the world. She moved closer like a skittish cat and knelt before it, tucking the bottom of her dress neatly beneath her. She sat back on her heels and picked up the flowers, touching their petals gently. She looked back at Dagonet, who was stood back watching her intently. Tears sprung to her eyes as she thought about Liam and she smiled pathetically at the strong, silent knight.

"Forgive me. It seems that all I do is cry lately." Rhoswen wiped her cheeks free of the droplets that had fallen. She sniffled and looked to Dagonet again, who had begun to approach her slowly. He knelt beside her, fully facing the grave. She chewed on her bottom lip a moment and met his gaze. "Would you like to know him?"

"I would be honored." Dagonet replied gently, sensing that she wished to talk about her brother to someone. She turned back to the grave and set the flowers down, arranging them against the stone. He could feel the sadness radiate from her, could see it in the way her fingers traced her childish markings on the stone, hear it in her voice as she began to speak.

Dagonet watched as Rhoswen laughed at a memory of when they were children as she recounted it. He could hear the tone behind it; grief, regret, guilt. He reached out a hand and took hers tenderly. It was so small against his that was so large; so delicate and soft compared to calloused and aged. Rhoswen squeezed his hand firmly. She continued to talk about her fallen brother, the way he talked, the things he liked, the trouble they had gotten into, how much she looked up to him. It made Dagonet think of his own brother; Bors.

Dagonet listened intently to everything she said, but his eyes were focused on her face. Her eyes as they stared down at the grave marker, a vibrant blue that matched the seas of his home. Her cheeks that rose up, making her eyes squint as she smiled. Her lips, rosy and full as she spoke.

Dagonet tore his gaze from her and looked at the grave. He chastised himself and tried to compose, willing himself to think about where he was. A cemetery with a woman who was telling him about her deceased brother in a town where a mad man lived, actively trying to see her in a similar grave for crimes Dagonet seriously doubted she had committed alone if at all.

He realized that she had ceased talking. He looked to her, finding her gaze upon him. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes red, but no more tears fell. Had she asked him something? Rhoswen looked back at the marker and sighed heavily.

"Do you have any siblings, Sir Dagonet?" Rhoswen asked and looked back to him once more. Dagonet nodded his head.

"Bors." He replied and Rhoswen's expression became surprised. She had not realized or had even thought of that possibility. Dagonet looked back down at Liam's grave stone and knitted his eyebrows together in thought. "If Marcellus knew that Liam was his son, before everything had happened, what do you suspect he would have done?"

Rhoswen followed the knight's gaze and knitted her eyebrows as well. She had never thought about that before. Would Marcellus have been different? Would everything have been different? Would Liam and her mother still be alive?

"I suppose we shall never know." She answered honestly and shook her head again at the thought.

The two knelt there a while longer, hand in hand, until the sun grew low behind the trees. Rhoswen looked up at the sky, seeing it change from blue to orange and red above the tree tops. She made to move and realized her hand was stuck. She looked down and saw that it was instead trapped in a firm embrace. She looked to Dagonet and studied his face as she had done the last two days.

Strong brow, stern demeanor, beautiful eyes that almost glowed in the burning setting of the sun. Her eyes travelled over his neck to his chest, broad and muscular beneath his leather yellowed shirt. He knelt straight, back taunt and shoulders squared. He was quiet and reserved, which was so very unlike the other Sarmatian Knights. She wondered what went through his mind, what was he thinking? About his own brother? About all of his brothers? About the town? About her…?

"We should return to town." She announced suddenly and felt the grip on her hand subside. She stole her hand back and stood up, clasping her hands before her in an attempt to compose herself. Dagonet followed suit and nodded in agreement. Rhoswen took lead and Dagonet took up the rear, allowing her time to free herself from her thoughts. What did she care if he thought about her? She couldn't have him. He was a knight, an infamous knight, and she was about to be burned alive in several days.

She couldn't fall in love. Not now. It would ruin everything.


	8. Sorcha

}{-Milk and Honey-}{

~Healing House~

~Six Days Left~

It had been two days since she knelt before her eldest brother's grave. Two days since she had found herself thinking about him again. Two days since she had last smiled. Two days since she had last spoken. Two days since she had last slept.

She laid awake at night in fear of what her mind would conjure. It always began with nightfall. She was staring at the stars, cool breeze brushing against her cheek. Then she saw blurred faces standing before her, could hear screams… her screams. She felt blood and wiped her nose, seeing red. Then there is a glow at her feet, her hands are tied behind her back as a fire lapped at her feet. The heat so hot it felt ice cold. She was suddenly thrusted out of her body, watching as a bystander as she burned alive in the town square at a stake like her mother.

Instead, she found herself sitting on the edge of her window. She stared out across to the wall where she could see the tree tops. The night air soothed her. The light of the moon washing over her put her at peace. She needed peace, needed to be soothed, needed to remain calm. She had six days left.

The sun was beginning to set over the town. Evening had crept up upon them without their knowing. Dagonet had returned the last two days to _help_ her. Even though she knew he was there for her protection. She even knew that he actually had stationed himself outside the Healing House by the front door at night. She had caught him asleep the night before. He had been sitting on the hard ground, one knee bent towards his chest with an arm slung over it. His head had fallen back against the house and turned slightly towards the door, soft snores floating on the air.

Rhoswen knelt before a young man, who sat up with his back exposed to her. He had been lashed several times in the town square earlier that day. Deep slashes sprayed across his back that had only just ceased bleeding. He sipped on the yarrow tea Rhoswen had given him as she worked to disinfect his wounds. She picked up a length of cloth that she had dipped in warm liquid, filled with oils from herbs, and pressed it gently against his wounds. He flinched, but said nothing in protest.

Dagonet sat to her left, across the room with an old man before him in a chair. He stood from his kneeling position and extended his hands for the man to take, helping him to his feet. His eyes caught movement and looked to Rhoswen. She tossed her hair from her face and over her shoulder as she took the cloth and soaked it once more. He watched as she gently rubbed the oils and water over his tender, broken skin. She reached for the bandages at her side and began wrapping them around the young man's middle. She tied them off snuggly and he thanked her, handing her the empty cup that had held the tea. She smiled at him, instructed he lay on his belly for the night and handed him his tattered shirt.

"She is quite the beauty, is she not?" The old man's voice, aged and worn, asked as he stood shakily on his feet. He let go of Dagonet's hands and placed his own on his hips, looking over at Rhoswen as she cleaned up. Dagonet followed the man's gaze, observing Rhoswen as she moved swiftly. Her dress swayed and flounced with her steps, hair following suit.

"More beautiful than her mother and let me tell you," the old man wagged a finger as Dagonet looked back at him, "I thought her mother was the most beautiful woman I had ever laid my eyes on."

Dagonet gave a small, soft snort of a laugh and looked back at Rhoswen. The old man's eyes followed, a knowing smile on his lips. He placed a hand on the tall knight's shoulder and patted him. Dagonet watched Rhoswen as she rubbed the excess oil from her hands off on a cloth from rubbing the woman's hands with it. Her eyes scanned the room and they landed on Dagonet. Their eyes met and locked in a silent battle. Her lips curled into a small smile that held sadness behind it. He could see it in her eyes.

"Elder Rhoswen! Elder Rhoswen!" A small voice came from the door of the Healing House. Rhoswen's attention snapped to Cara, worry etching her features as the girl ran into the house like a bat out of Hell. She ran to meet her and knelt before her.

"Cara, what is it?" Rhoswen was alarmed by such an entrance and began to look over the girl for any signs of abuse. She found none. Dagonet watched from where he stood, the old man at his side shaking his head and smiling.

"What a match those two are." He commented in a creaky voice as he placed his hands on his hips, balancing himself. "She will be a good mother one day."

Dagonet looked over at the old man, wondering quickly if he knew Rhoswen's fate in the coming days, and then returned his gaze to Rhoswen. She appeared genuinely concerned for the young girl's well-being, making sure to look at the bottoms of her feet, between her fingers, everywhere for injuries. Dagonet gave a small snort as a smile wormed its way to his lips. He crossed his arms over his chest. Dagonet about the old man's words.

 _She will be a good mother one day…_

Dagonet thought the same. She would make a good mother. If he and the other knights could figure a way to save her; find a knight to marry her; take her away from here. Then she could have children of her own; blonde hair, blue eyes, perfect completion like hers. A small being with delicate hands, tiny feet, cheery laugh that looked just like her. He could see it and it made him smile then he looked away from her. Not quick enough though. The old man had seen it. Seen the thought cross through his mind, seen the look in his eyes as he stared at the young, fair healer. He knew the feelings the knight had. He knew them well.

"There are only three things to be done with a woman like that." The older man nodded his head at Rhoswen, who had begun to poke Cara teasingly on her belly. The young girl laughed and tried to squirm, but Rhoswen caught her and pulled her to her chest in a tight hug. Dagonet looked to the older man with an amused and bewildered look.

"What pray tell is that?" He asked, noticing the smile on the man's face as well as the distant look of longing in his eyes. He never looked back at Dagonet and instead only stared at Rhoswen as she spoke calmly, motherly to Cara.

"Suffer for her, give up everything for her," the old man looked up at Dagonet. Their eyes met and locked on one another; old meeting young, wisdom meeting inexperience, "and love her so deeply and so completely that it changes the both of you."

Dagonet opened his mouth to say something, but the older man patted his shoulder again. He gave a small laugh and began to walk away, stopping to look back at the knight with a glimmer in his greying eyes.

"When you are young and you are in love, it is obvious to everyone but you and the person you are in love with." He spoke his final piece of wisdom and then hobbled away, heading for the entrance. He said goodnight to Rhoswen and then hobbled out of the Healing House. Dagonet watched as Rhoswen rolled back to sit on her heels and laced her hands in her lap.

"What was that entrance all about then? Hm?" Rhoswen asked and waited for an explanation. After the other day, when Cara had come in on Accalon's request with bruises on her arm from a soldier, she feared for the girl's safety. She was special to her, reminded her of herself and of what she was giving her life for; innocents.

"Look!" Cara reached into the pocket on her green dress and pulled out a braided rope with Josephine knots. Cara held it before Rhoswen's face and grinned. "I'm getting better. Aren't I, Rhoswen?"

"You are getting **much** better." Rhoswen took the braided rope and looked it over. It resembled the one she wore on her wrist, but without chiseled bone beads. She handed it back to Cara and smiled warmly. What a wonder the girl was to her. Rhoswen poked the girl's belly. "Have you eaten yet, Cara?"

"No, but I'm hungry. Can I eat with you tonight? I won't tell the other kids. I promise." Cara replied, child innocence becoming her as she stared at Rhoswen with big, pleading green eyes. Rhoswen smiled and nodded her head, having intended for the girl to eat with her all along. Rhoswen instructed Cara to go sit on a chair till she could finish cleaning up for the night and Cara did with a bounce in her step.

When Rhoswen stood, she caught Dagonet's eye again and her smiled at her. It made her hands tingle, chest ache, stomach flip. The way he looked at her with his eyes soft and holding an emotion within them that burned. She looked away quickly without returning the smile or the look and began to clean up.

Cara walked passed the tall knight and uneasiness washed over her at his immense presence. She sat down on the chair next to the table, watching as Rhoswen began to pick up and swaying her legs back and forth. She looked over at Dagonet, who also had begun to clean where he was working. She chewed on her bottom lip as her legs swung faster, hands gripping the edge of the seat on each side.

"So you are you _really_ a knight?" Cara's small voice asked with trepidation as she watched Dagonet. Rhoswen lifted her head from where she knelt next to a bedroll and then looked to Dagonet, worried for a moment about what he would say. He turned and looked at the small girl in the chair and nodded his head, smile soft and inviting.

Cara nodded her head and looked away, but looked to him again quickly as a new question popped into her head. "Like in the stories Elder Rhoswen tells me?"

Dagonet looked to Rhoswen and then back at Cara.

"Depends on the stories she has told you." Dagonet replied, earning a smile from Rhoswen behind him. She watched the two, her motions ceasing and falling still. Dagonet's shirt sleeves were rolled up nearly to his elbows, the front where the clasps were sat open slightly from the heat of the building and exposed the beginnings of his muscular chest. Rhoswen caught sight of it and found herself examining him from where she knelt.

"Rhoswen…?" Cara's voice called to her with trepidation. Rhoswen's gaze fell on her instantly and she smiled.

"Do not fear him, Cara. He is keeping me safe." Rhoswen pushed some hair from her face and caught Dagonet's smile. She approached the table with bottles and placed them in the crate. She bent over Cara and gave her nose a small tap with a single digit. "He is very nice. So, be nice in return, yes?"

Cara nodded her head and smiled back at Rhoswen, feeling calmed and assured. Rhoswen walked away and picked up some bandages that were old and dirty. She bundled them and moved on to the next bedroll. Cara looked back to Dagonet, who began to help Rhoswen clean up once again.

"So you are a white knight?" Cara asked with an expression that was still leery of the man. Dagonet looked back at her and then looked to Rhoswen, confused by the question. Rhoswen licked her lips and was about to explain, but Cara continued. "If you are protecting Rhoswen, then you must be a white knight. You must be here to rescue her from lord Marcellus. A white knight in the stories always rescues the beautiful maiden from the mean old man and carries her off into the sunset on his white horse. You will be married on the coast and live in cottage and have lots of babies."

Rhoswen couldn't help but release a loud, hearty laugh from deep within her belly. Her cheeks rose so much with her laugh that her eyes squinted nearly to the point where she could no longer see. Cara's words had caught them both off-guard, but Dagonet had not found it quite as funny as Rhoswen had. He looked to the young woman and stood from his kneeling position, finding the child's questioning valid for the present situation.

Rhoswen needed to marry a knight within six days or else relinquish her life to the pyre as deemed by, as Cara had said, a mean old man; Marcellus. He and the other knights were, in fact, there to rescue her whether it be by finding her a suitable husband or other means. Where was the humor?

"Oh Cara." Rhoswen breathed through her laughing. She wiped a finger beneath her eyes and rid herself of her tears. She did not know quite what she wanted to say next and instead shook her head. She gave another laugh and walked over to the crate, releasing the contents in her arms into it instead.

"What? That is what they do in the stories!" Cara argued, unsure why Rhoswen was laughing at her. The girl's eyes shot to Dagonet accusingly. "You **are** going to keep her safe from Marcellus, aren't you? He is evil and Rhoswen is good. If you are a white knight, then you have to protect her. It's your duty."

Cara fell silent, looking at Rhoswen who straightened the contents in the crate. The girl's eyes moved to Dagonet, pleading with him to reassure them both. Dagonet looked to Rhoswen, watching her carefully and then nodded his head.

"I will protect, lady Rhoswen, from **whatever** or _whomever_ may try to harm her." Dagonet spoke up and Rhoswen slowed her motions. "As is my duty as a knight. I promise you that."

She kept her back to him, but her eyes moved to Cara on the chair. The girl smiled brightly and then looked to the older woman.

"I knew he was your white knight. Just like in the stories." She grinned at Rhoswen, legs bouncing forward and backward as she sat in her seat. Rhoswen looked to Dagonet, meeting his gaze that showed he was serious about what he had said. He was a knight and he would uphold his duty, Rhoswen knew that. All of them would. But something in the way he stared at her with a steady gaze, steady and unwavering eyes, with a straight face made her nervous. Was there something else? Something more?

She looked to Cara, "Let's start supper."

Cara slid off the chair and ran into the hallway, heading towards the food pantry. Rhoswen moved back to the crate on the table and picked it up. She placed it on her hip and began to head towards the hall. She stopped at the door and looked back at Dagonet, who was fixing his sleeves.

"Would you care to join us?" She asked timidly and licked her lips. He looked back at her, noticing her look and shook his head.

"No, I should probably head back. Speak with Arthur." He replied and turned to face her, placing a hand on the hilt of his sword. "I appreciate the offer though. Thank you."

"Of course." She smiled quickly and nodded her head, feeling slightly deflated by his response. She began to retreat into the hallway and then stopped, peeking her head back out. "Dagonet?"

He stopped and turned back to her again.

"If you should happen to find yourself heading back this way, I will leave some supper out for you in case your discussion works up an appetite." She explained and rearranged the crate on her hip. "I will also set out a fresh bedroll for you so you don't have to sleep outside on the hard ground."

She met his gaze and then nodded her head before disappearing again. Dagonet watched her walk down the hall with the crate on her hip and disappear into the supply pantry. He turned around and headed out the door with a smile on his lips. He had been caught, but when? He must have been asleep. What had she thought? What had she done?

He walked towards the stone wall of the town and stood at the edge, leaning against the merlon. He stared out towards the woods and looked in the direction he knew Vayle's cabin to be. He had no intention of returning there tonight. He had no intention of speaking to Arthur. He was going to ensure the area was safe, quiet and that Rhoswen and Cara were safe.

He caught sight of red moving in the corner of his eye and looked to his left. Two soldiers stood on the wall, looking over at him. Neither said anything. Dagonet stared back at them, hard and unwavering. Soon they looked away, mumbling something to each other. Dagonet looked back out into the night, crossing his arms over his chest.

There was a slight chill in the air. The stars shone brightly against the dark blue almost black sky as the moon sat nearly full. A night or two and it would be complete.

His gaze drifted behind him to the Healing House. He could see smoke rising in gentle puffs into the air from the fire Rhoswen was cooking over. He watched silently, looking from window to window, but seeing nothing but darkness. He pushed himself from the merlon and headed down the steps, walking around the house. He stopped a few feet away from a window where a soft yellow-orange glow fell from. He could hear voices coming from inside and watched Cara and Rhoswen.

"I like him." Cara's chipper voice floated on the cool breeze as she sat at the small rectangular table. Rhoswen stood at the fire stirring a pot of stew.

"Oh you do, huh?" Rhoswen looked back at Cara.

"Don't you, Rhoswen?" Cara asked with big green eyes as she crossed her arms on the table and laid her chin down on top.

"Aye." Rhoswen replied and began to dish out the stew. She stared down at her work as the flames danced in her eyes, casting shadows on her face. "He is very kind and gentle."

"And tall! And strong! And carries a big sword!" Cara's enthusiasm and words made Rhoswen laugh. Her mind dug up the conversation with the elderly woman days ago when she had also discussed Dagonet's _sword_ and it made her laugh again.

"He is all those too." Rhoswen laughed as she walked to the table. She placed a bowl before Cara and sat another in her place. She sat down and nodded her head to Cara, telling her it was okay to begin. Rhoswen raised her bowl to her lips and blew a steady stream of air to try and cool the stew before taking a sip.

"So are you two going to be married?" Cara asked suddenly as she looked to Rhoswen from where she sat. Her bowl was firmly placed on the table, small hands cupping the sides. Rhoswen set her bowl down and took one of her delicate hands in her own. She shook her head, hair swaying.

"But the other children… they said that if you don't marry…" Cara's voice fell off and she looked away. Rhoswen knew what the other children had said. The brats. Rhoswen gave Cara's hand a gentle tug towards her. Cara slid off her chair and moved to Rhoswen, sitting in her lap sideways. Her little legs hung over Rhoswen's lap. Cara laid her head against Rhoswen's shoulder, forehead touching her chin. Rhoswen wrapped her arms around her, hugging her tightly.

"Do not be sad, rabbit." Rhoswen murmured into her hair, kissing her head. "I go for a good cause."

"But I don't want you to go at all." Cara's voice cracked. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she began to cry. She held tight to Rhoswen's shoulder, clenching the fabric of her dress in her tiny fist. Rhoswen held her even tighter. "Why can't h-he or one of the other knights just rescue you like the white k-knight in the stories?"

"This isn't a story, Cara. It wouldn't be fair to Sir Dagonet or any of them." Rhoswen tried to soothe her, assure her, comfort her, but she couldn't even fool herself. "It will be alright."

"I don't want you to die!" Cara sobbed and turned, wrapping her arms around Rhoswen's neck. Rhoswen felt tears prickle in her eyes and she tried desperately to blink them away.

"Shhhh, sweetheart. Don't cry. Don't be sad." Rhoswen pleaded, feeling the jostling of the girl's sobs against her. Cara shook, breath hitching. "Everything will be alright, Cara. Please believe me."

"It w-won't be a-alr-right." Cara pulled back and looked Rhoswen dead in the eye. Rhoswen broke, wiping away the girl's tears and feeling her own streaking down her cheeks.

"Yes, it will. Vayle will take care of you and so will Accalon." Rhoswen assured her, trying to smile through her tears. Cara shook her head, unwilling to accept that as an answer.

"I want you to take care of me! Like you always have!" Cara shouted, but fell back into her cries. Rhoswen pulled Cara closer and placed a long, firm kiss on her forehead.

"I love you so much, Cara." Rhoswen breathed into the girl's hair, hugging her tightly to her as Cara continued to cry. "Just remember that. Always."

"…why c-can't you just s-stay?" Cara sobbed, breathing hitching and becoming hard to catch. Rhoswen rubbed a hand up and down her back, trying to calm her down. "W-why? P-please don't leave m-me alone."

"I wish I could stay with you forever, rabbit." Rhoswen admitted and closed her eyes tightly. She sniffled and shook her head.

Dagonet watched from out on the street. He felt like he was intruding on a private, secret moment, but he couldn't turn away. It was hard to watch, but at the same time it made him feel something deep inside; an ache, a want. As the old man had said to him earlier: _suffer for her_. That was what he wanted to do. Take all her pain away and carry it for her so she would never have to feel such sorrow again. If only to make her smile again…

Dagonet turned his gaze away and began walking again. His heart grew heavy as his chest pained him. Never had he felt something so strong for another. Never had his instincts as a knight been so strong to protect someone in such dire distress. He was honorable, but he was not driven by honor now. It was something more. Something the old man had seen in his stares, in the way he watched Rhoswen. He had known what was happening. He had heard stories of such things, love at first sight, but it had never happened to him. Never him. He was the **brute** , not the _charmer_ like Gawain or the philanderer like Lancelot. He had no ways with women like them.

When he needed to satisfy his urges, he found a whore to warm his bed for a night. He cared little for their name, the color of their hair or their eyes, where they were from. They were only ever a means to an end. Nothing more. Courting, marriage and love were out of his reach. They were for men like Rhoswen's brother, Gallius, for Arthur and Galahad. Not him.

Dagonet walked until he found himself outside the town walls. He walked through the woods, passed the cemetery and stopped only when he reached the hill. He stood there a long while, observing the large wooden posts that stood in a circle. He moved to the one closet to his left and laid a hand on it. He spotted stains, covered by a liquid long since dried; blood. His hand slid.

Which one had she been bound to? – he wondered as he walked around the henge. Seven of the posts were stained by blood. Seven posts; seven girls. The Celestials. Rhoswen.

He turned to look behind him and back where the town laid. He could see flags blowing in the cool spring breeze. Roman flags. He could also spot smoke rising from the woods where Vayle's cabin sat, nestled away. He looked back to one of the posts. He imagined Rhoswen as a girl. Dragged through the streets of the town by her hair, beaten bloodied, legs broken, head shaved, and then nailed to the posts at the wrists and ankles; crying, starving, dying… for days.

Dagonet suddenly clenched his hand and punched one of the posts. He knew he had broken the skin on his knuckles as soon as they made contact. He did not pull his fist away. He kept it pinned there, staring at the blood stains.

He could not marry her.

He could not love her.

But he _could_ suffer for her.

He _could_ protect her.

He **would** protect her.

He pulled his hand back and spotted four bloodied marks on the post from where his knuckles had split open. He looked down at his hand and then back at town. He flexed his hand, looking around at the henge once more, and then turned to head back to town. He would stand guard all night. He would ensure she was safe. Then at first light he would find Arthur and the others to discuss what was going to be done. He was tired of talks, tired of promises to find a way to rescue her. He wanted action.

"Excuse me?" A voice called out from the edge of the henge. Dagonet spotted a woman, no older than Rhoswen, with warm auburn hair. She stood in a deep green dress with gold embroidery, hands clasped before her in a way that told him she was of a higher class. "Are you one of the Sarmatian knights?"

"Yes. I am Dagonet." He replied, turning to face her fully and placing a hand on the hilt of his sword in case this was an ambush. He looked around, trying to spot anyone else that might sneak up on him. She noticed the action.

"I am not here to trick you. There is no one else here but us." She took a step forward and looked around at the henge. She laid a hand gently on a nearby post and examined the dried blood. Her face contorted at a thought and Dagonet relaxed slightly. She did not seem like a threat and it would seem that they were alone.

"Who are you?" He asked and stood straighter, narrowing his eyes at her in bewilderment.

"I was one of the girls left for dead here." She let her hand slip away from the post and looked to Dagonet. "My name is Sorcha."


	9. The Royal We

}{-Milk and Honey-}{

~Vayle's Cottage~

Dagonet had followed the stranger back to Vayle's cottage through the woods. He watched her closely, eyeing her from foot to head, unable to shake the feeling that something was going on. She had said nothing more since their conversation on the hill where she told him her name and then told him to follow her to Vayle's cottage. She had not even bothered to look back at him to see if he was following. She was focused on getting to Vayle; speaking to the knights; driven by something urgent. Was it simply concern for Rhoswen; another Celestial? Or was it something else?

As they neared the cottage, they smelled the faint scent of burning oak. Smoke rose from the chimney spout on top of the cottage and rose higher into the night sky. Bors sat outside the cottage on pile of tossed logs. He held a pipe in hand and stood at the sight of the strange woman with auburn hair and deep green eyes. His eyes darted back to the brush where Dagonet soon appeared. Bors walked closer to his brother with pipe held out in the direction of Sorcha. His expression conveyed his questioning, but it wasn't enough. He turned around and looked back at the woman again.

"Who the Hell is that?" Bors pointed his pipe in Sorcha's direction once more and turned his gaze back on Dagonet.

"My name is Sorcha." She replied with a straight, even face that caught Bors off-guard. Dagonet stopped by his brother's side and the two looked to her. She said nothing and only stared back at them with the same steady gaze. It made the two knights even more leery of her. Her eyes darted from one to the next and then back again. "Are we going in or not?"

"Wait just a moment." Bors spoke up and raised a hand to make her slow down. "Who are you?"

"I told you my name." Sorcha replied with impatience and her green eyes grew hard.

"I know," Bors nodded his head as a sneer crossed his face, "but that isn't what I asked you. Who are you?"

"She is a Celestial." Dagonet spoke up, meeting Sorcha's gaze. She looked on at them with disinterest.

"Another one?" Bors head snapped to his tall brother with annoyance and surprise.

"What do you mean, Bors?" Dagonet narrowed his eyes in question.

"A young girl with crazy red hair showed up a little while ago. Said her name was Esme. Claimed to be a Celestial." Bors explained and took a long drag from his pipe. "She's still in there arguin' with Vayle."

Sorcha took a deep breath and released it, shaking her head gently from side to side. Bors looked back at her and took a step closer.

"Said that they needed fight Marcellus and his men. Take back their city."

"Oh for Heaven's sake." Sorcha scowled and turned around, hair swaying. She headed straight for the cottage door as Bors and Dagonet followed. As they neared, they heard shouting. They walked inside and spotted the knights first, sitting by the hearth with pained and annoyed expressions.

"We must! He is going to kill her. We have to fight or we will suffer under their hands forever!" A young woman with bright red curls that was lobbed at her shoulders, stood before Vayle by the table. Fire burned in her hazel eyes as her freckled cheeks flushed with her enthusiasm.

"We cannot, Esme. We risk starting a war." Vayle argued as fiercely and saw her words had struck Esme. "One that we cannot win. It is too dangerous."

"You old, bitter cow! You coward!"

"Esme!" Sorcha's voice was steady, but stern. Her expression conveyed maturity and also bitterness. Esme ceased her fiery words and looked in the direction of the other Celestial. She stood taller than both Rhoswen and Sorcha, but much thinner with bony wrists and collar bones clearly visible. Esme said nothing and only stared at Sorcha, whose gaze was hard and off-putting.

"Sorcha, have you come to take this child of yours home to bed?" Vayle all but snarled, looking back at the young woman before her. "It is far passed her bedtime."

"She was not supposed to come." Sorcha's side glance at Esme caused her to look away and stare at the floor. "I apologize for her actions Vayle. She is the youngest and, as such, still has much to learn in the ways of etiquette and manners."

Vayle scoffed and shook her head, placing her hands on her hips. She clicked her tongue against her teeth. She looked at Esme again, but turned away shaking her head at the young woman's actions once more.

"What has she told you?" Sorcha spoke again, voice calm and even. Esme crossed her arms over her chest and glared at Sorcha.

"That you all plan to rain Hell down upon us." Vayle's response came through gritted teeth. None of the knights spoke as Sorcha looked from Vayle to them. They were content on listening only.

"What in the seven Hells are you thinking?" Vayle's voice changed, growing softer as did her expression. She shook her head at Sorcha, who met the gaze with steady eyes and a blank expression. "Having Rhoswen take the oath? Participate in the rituals? If Marcellus even caught wind of such a notion, he would kill her on the spot."

"He will do no such thing." Sorcha replied evenly. Vayle spat at the young celestial and began to pace about her cottage. The young woman stood firm with hands clasped before her. The knights watched in bewilderment, Arthur and Lancelot giving each other an anxious look. They had run out of ideas of their own. With only six days, with the dawning of the fifth close at hand, they had little in the way of options.

Dagonet looked from Vayle to Sorcha, noticing how much the two behaved in such similar manners. Steady, stern, embittered. Esme was different. He could almost feel the heat of her rage wash over him as it radiated from her where she stood. She shook her head, tight red curls bouncing and rolled her hazel eyes.

"I thought Rhoswen was already a Celestial?" Galahad asked, turning his head left and right at the other knights for reassurance that he was not the only one confused. Gawain nodded his head, agreeing with the validity of the question. Gallius rolled his eyes from where he stood before the hearth, staring into the flames.

"Yes, by birth she has a right to be a Celestial." Gallius explained and looked over his shoulder at Galahad. He turned his whole body and faced his brothers' in arms, "but she never took her oath or participated in any of the rituals that would confirm her status. Instead, she became a healer."

"Which is as acceptable and as noble a profession and title." Vayle quickly jumped in, defending her niece's decision.

"Yes, it is, but the Celestials need her. Now more than ever, Vayle." Sorcha spoke up again, auburn hair bouncing as she shook her head slowly. "She cannot stray any longer. She must take her pledge and stand with us."

"What does it matter now?" Vayle slowed her pace at the window closest her. The light of the moon shone down on her, face seeming to glow in its rays. She felt the fight leave her as despair began to settle in her heart.

"Vayle, I understand your hesitation, but we have little choice now." Sorcha spoke up in an even tone as her eyes followed the older woman as she continued to pace fervently back and forth, head shaking. "Rhoswen has six days left and–"

"Five now. Dawn is only a few hours away." Esme corrected and looked between the two women. Neither Sorcha nor Vayle commented on the immaturity of the comment. Instead they both stared at Esme with a similar glare, causing the younger woman to scoff and look away.

"We have no time left for idle planning, Vayle. Esme and I are not the only ones who feel this way." Sorcha shook her head, auburn hair swaying as her eyes became sullen. "No knight is going to rescue her from Marcellus."

Sorcha and Esme's accusing eyes darted across the room to the knights, who sat silent. They avoided the women's gazes and turned their heads.

"Why would such honorable, respectable knights ever take a lowly, dimwitted Gaelic girl to be their wife?" Esme snarled as each word dripped with sarcasm and scorn. Fire returned to her eyes as she narrowed them, moving her gaze from one knight to the next slowly. "After all, we are barbarians and thus even inferior to their Roman whores. We could never produce offspring worthy of sharing their blood or name. Not even beautiful, saintly Rhoswen is worthy enough to share their bed."

The air in the room had become so thick and unbearable. The silence was deafening. Dagonet had half expected Vayle or Sorcha to snap at the youngest woman, but neither said anything. Neither looked to the knights nor looked to each other. They agreed with Esme. They just didn't have the gall to be so blatant to men such as them. Knights; Sarmatian knights in the service of Rome at that. Not many did.

"It is too late." Gallius' words broke the silence as he closed his eyes and gritted his teeth behind taunt lips. "She will die on the pyre by the hand of a mad man."

"And with her goes everything we have worked so hard for." Vayle chimed in, meeting Gallius' stare and lingering on him.

"Precisely, Vayle. Everything will go up in smoke with her. All of the work, the pain, the struggle; it will be for naught." Sorcha moved closer to the older woman and took her aging hands in her own. She drew Vayle's attention to her, eyes locking in some kind of silent exchange. "Without Rhoswen, we have **nothing**. She is **everything**."

Sorcha looked between Vayle's eyes as though searching for something particular. The squeeze on her hands from the older woman was her response.

"We _need_ her to take her oath, Vayle." Sorcha met Vayle's gaze. The older woman had heard the urgency in Sorcha's voice and felt the tightening grip she held on her hands.

"Who is we?" Vayle's eyes narrowed as she realized something more was going on. Sorcha's expression changed as a smile slid its way across her lips. Her eyes glistened, not with ferocity or worry, but with mischief that Vayle had never seen before in the oldest Celestial. She was the mature, collected one. Mischief and secrets were not becoming of her.

"That is the first decent question you have asked all night." Esme piped up from where she still stood by the table. " **We** are those willing to fight for what we believe in. **We** are those who are tired of having these damn soldiers make a mockery of us, of starving, of freezing to death, of living in fear within our own home."

"We are the Royal We." Sorcha looked from Esme back to Vayle and then to the knights for the briefest of moments. Her eyes found Dagonet, who met her gaze openly, and then looked back to the older woman; the only elder they had on their side.

"What are you planning to do?" Vayle asked slowly as her tired eyes moved between the two Celestials. "Start a war?"

"Not us." Sorcha shook her head gently. The air fell silent again as Vayle felt her confusion grow. She shook her head and knitted her eyebrows together.

"What do you mean, not you?" She questioned gently, not bothering to hide her bewilderment.

"Rhoswen." Gallius breathed out, drawing attention to himself. His eyebrows were knitted together, face churning from confusion to worry. He took a step closer to Sorcha, eyes locked on her and determined for an answer. "It's what Rhoswen is planning on doing, isn't it?"

Sorcha met his stare with composure and resolve. Gallius shook his head and placed his hands on her upper arms, shaking her slightly as though it might release an answer from her lips.

"Gallius!" Arthur snapped, wishing for his legati to behave in a better and more respectable manner. "Let. Her. Go."

"Sor, what is she planning?" Gallius breathed out, voice changing as he actively ignored his commander. Every fiber of his being pulled in different directions. His head told him to listen while his heart said to fight it.

Sorcha saw fear and panic in Gallius' stormy blue eyes. She swallowed hard, hoping no one noticed that she was losing her composure. Gallius' eyes darted back and forth between hers. He shook her again.

"Sor, tell me." He demanded as Esme's eyes moved slowly to Vayle. The two woman exchanged a silent conversation and looked back at the two before them. Arthur narrowed his eyes at the behavior. Never had he seen Gallius react in such a way; grabbing and shaking a woman, especially a woman of status? Never. But there was something else; something more.

"She's planning something that will change everything." Sorcha began in a soft voice, trying to calm him.

"What?" He breathed out as his hold slackened slightly. Sorcha took a breath in, filling her lungs so deeply, and then released it slowly to regain composure.

"She is going to kill Marcellus and your father." Sorcha felt Gallius' hands fall from her arms. She took a step back, putting distance between then and looked to Vayle. The older woman shook her head and cursed under her breath.

"How?" Bors asked, looking from his brothers to the women. His eyes moved back to the other knights and he shrugged, acting as though it was nothing to jump into the conversation. Dagonet did not meet his brother's stare. He already knew the answer. It was so simple and so… achievable for Rhoswen to do.

"She is a healer." Dagonet answered his brother and looked to Vayle, then to Sorcha and Esme. "She must have some kind of herb or plant."

"My guess would be yew or some kind of hemlock. Either are easily disguised as a meal item and they are quick." Vayle spoke up, running through her head all the easily accessible items Rhoswen could get her hands on.

"If she kills them, all your problems are solved." Lancelot liked the idea a little too much and the grin on his face expressed it. "Hers as well."

"It is against our oath." Sorcha was quick to rebute the knight's enthusiasm. "We cannot take the life of an elder."

"So let her kill Marcellus and be done with it." Lancelot looked to Arthur and then to Gallius as though this was the simplest solution in the world.

"No, we cannot have Rhoswen found to have killed Marcellus in such a way. It needs to be done in the open for the people to see." Esme replied and licked her lips. "It is the only way to get the people to defend themselves. They are scared and beaten. They need to see one of their own stand up to this oppression."

"What my sister has already done isn't enough?" Gallius asked, eyes never moving from Sorcha. She could see the pain in his eyes.

"I am afraid not." Sorcha replied and took one of Gallius' hands in her own. She gave it a reassuring squeeze. "She has only sowed the seeds and given them time to grow. Now it is time to reap. This must be done in the right way or everything will fail. If she kills Marcellus her way, the people won't be able to fend off the retaliation. If Marcellus kills her on the pyre, the people will give up hope."

The cottage fell silent. The fire in the hearth crackled and burned. The flames danced about, providing light and warmth to the dark and cold discussion.

"We need to hit them all at once and hard." Arthur spoke up after a long moment. The gears in his mind began to turn, developing a plan. Everyone looked to him. Lancelot's expression portrayed his disdain and contempt.

 _This isn't our fight_ – he thought and looked away from his commander. He walked away, arms crossed over his chest and cursing in his head. Arthur watched him go a moment and then looked back to Sorcha, Vayle and Esme.

"I assume you have a plan?" Arthur asked and looked between the two Celestials. The women looked at one another and then nodded their heads.

"We do, but Rhoswen has to take her oath in order for it to work and soon. The moon is nearly full." Esme explained, meeting the gazes. Her eyes moved to Sorcha, who looked anywhere but at Gallius.

"Oh." Vayle breathed out as realization dawned on her. "You plan to use the Féile Gealaí as her right of passage into the Celestials after she takes her oath."

"Yes. Unless you know of any babies soon to be born in the next few days." Esme replied and licked her lips, recrossing her arms over her chest. "It is the only ritual we can use and it will draw all of the men out into the open. They will be inebriated and unknowing."

"Absolutely not." Gallius snapped, looking from Vayle to the other two women. "She is not going to be a part of that."

"Gallius," Sorcha's calm and warm voice called his attention back to her, "she does not have to participate in it."

"Even though it might do her some good to." Esme mumbled under her breath, but Gallius had heard it. Sorcha tugged on his hand that she held, bringing his gaze back to her once more.

"She only needs to appear as though she is. Wear the garb, go into the woods and hide till the soldiers are no more a threat." Sorcha explained to him, sensing him becoming more resolved with the plan. "The other Celestials plan on making the festival legitimate so as not to rouse suspicion."

"What is this festival?" Arthur questioned, not liking that he was in the background of this planning.

"It is the Lunar Festival." Esme answered, seeing that Sorcha was not going to. "The Celestials reenact a myth of how the stars ended up in the night sky. Everyone gets drunk. We run into the woods and the men will search for us."

"The soldiers will take part. They will get drunk, won't be able to fight, then Marcellus will be vulnerable." Vayle began to see their plan for what it was. "Except, he will have armed guards at all times and I doubt he will leave the safety of the Elder's lodgings to go to the festival. He cares not for our traditions."

"So let him stay holed up in the House of the Elders. That is even better." Esme responded and gave a shrug of her shoulders. "With Lorne and his men, we should have enough to storm and conquer before the night is out."

Vayle looked to Gallius, who turned his gaze from her to Sorcha. Then his eyes fell on Arthur. This wasn't their fight. He had no right to ask any of them to help.

"How many men will be with Marcellus that night?" Arthur asked, looking to Sorcha and Esme. Sorcha looked to Esme for an answer.

"Maybe fifteen." She began as she thought about the layout of the house. She used her hands to draw the layout in the air before her as though actually able to see the inside of the house. "Most likely four posted on the front porch. Two posted outside the front, two inside the doors… two at the bottom of the stairs and two more at the top. Two outside whatever room he is in, most likely his bedchamber, and then two or four more inside with him. He is suspicious and likely prepared already for some kind of retaliation."

Arthur looked to his knights. Gawain and Galahad looked at one another and then Gawain looked to Bors, who looked to Dagonet.

"Then it is settled." Dagonet spoke firmly and nodded his head once at Arthur. The commander returned the nod and looked back at where Lancelot stood shaking his head. He still believed this was the wrong decision.

"When is this festival?" Lancelot asked and walked closer to his brothers.

"Three days from sun up." Sorcha announced, letting go of Gallius' hand finally and walking closer to Esme. Gallius watched her walk away and stared at her with a hard gaze.

"What do you need us to do?" He asked, earning a graceful spin from Sorcha. Her hair bounced and her eyes glimmered in the moonlight that came through the window.

"Wait for more information." Sorcha's answer was simple and firm. She took Esme's arm and they both walked out of the cottage, closing the door behind them. Gallius shook his head and looked to Vayle, hands coming to rest on his hips.

"Gallius," Arthur's voice caught the young man's ear and forced his attention on him, "we have handled worse odds."

"That is for damn sure!" Bors bellowed with a laugh, looking around at his brother's in arms. Dagonet smiled at his brother's attitude and looked to Gallius, noticing the look on Vayle's face. Her eyes lingered on him. Something was deep set in them. It made the smile retract from his lips and was replaced by firm resolution. He understood and began to walk away, heading for the door.

"Dag, where you goin'?" Bors called after him and stood up from his spot on the dirt floor.

"I am going back to my watch. As should the rest of you." Dagonet replied and without another word, exited the cottage. A smile lingered on Vayle's face as the door shut behind him. Bors turned back to the other knights and blinked several times as though at a loss.

"Who the Hell does he think he is?" He asked softly and shook his head, setting himself back on the ground. Tristan headed for the door as well, intent on taking up his watch as well out in the woods with his hawk. "You're actually goin' to listen to him? He ain't thinkin' with the right head!"

Tristan left the cottage, not bothering to say anything or acknowledge Bors. Gawain and Galahad laughed, watching Bors steam and rant. Arthur looked to Lancelot, exchanging looks and Lancelot shook his head, but smiled. He could never turn down a good battle. None of them could. It was their one deadly fault.

* * *

Dagonet walked back through the woods and into town. It was quiet apart from the tavern where the soldiers sat with women on their laps and ale in hand. He looked on as he passed the scene by. Women laughing as they wrapped their arms around the mens' necks. The men slapping their asses and exclaiming for them to get another round.

This had no appeal for Dagonet. He longed for peace and quiet, much like Tristan. Instead of boisterous laughter among people he could care less about, he desired the company of close friend in intimate settings. He desired a walk through the crisp night air as the moonlight washed over him.

He found his way back to the Healing House and opened the door. He would have been fine standing guard outside by the door, but Rhoswen had made him a bedroll. He would feel rude not using it or at least pretending to use it. He headed for the bedroll nearest the hallway. It was piled with furs and blankets, warm and comforting. He unlatched his belt with his sword and laid it against the wall nearest his immediate reach. He laid himself down on the prepared quarters and stared up at the ceiling of the healing house.

He heard a soft noise coming from down the hall. Pushing himself onto his elbows and extending himself backwards he was able to see down the hall. He could see the faintest notion of light coming from the kitchen. Grabbing his sword from its sheath, he stood up and proceeded down the hall with caution. The noise was so soft and so bewildering. He couldn't place it.

He held his sword at the ready and walked into the kitchen, prepared to see an intruder. Instead, he saw Rhoswen. She sat against the wall with her hands covering her face as her shoulders rocked up and down. Dagonet quickly realized what was happening and lowered his sword, laying it gently against the edge of the table. He moved to her and knelt before her, one knee touching the dirt floor. He outstretched a hand to one of her knees.

She sat up straight, head against the wall and stared at him. Her eyes were bloodshot and cheeks stained with tears. She sucked on her upper lip and rolled her head slowly left and right, unable to speak. She shut her eyes tightly again as a new wave of tears fought their way to freedom. She gave a sob and quickly threw her hands over her mouth to muffle them.

Dagonet looked towards the door of the kitchen in case a young girl might pop her head in. She didn't. Cara was fast asleep in Rhoswen's bed. Dagonet looked back at the young woman before him crumpled on the ground. He didn't know what to do.

Rhoswen removed one of her hands from her mouth and placed it over his on her knee, squeezing it. Instinct took over and Dagonet found himself sitting beside her, pulling her into his side. He wrapped his right arm around her shoulders and his left across her front, holding her tightly to him. Rhoswen broke down and turned her head into the crook of his neck as her right hand took hold of his shirt.

She cried and she sobbed, holding on tightly to Dagonet, who allowed her to use him as her rock. He just held her tightly to his strong chest in his strong arms, keeping her safe from all that wished to subdue her. He would bear her pain and protect her with everything he was.


	10. The Healer

}{-Milk and Honey-}{

~Five Days Left~

~Healing House~

The town bustled outside, full of activity and energy. Dagonet sat against the wall still, head slumped back and eyes closed as he dreamed of another place and time. Footsteps pitter-pattered down the hall in a hurry and woke him from his slumber. They stopped at the doorway to the kitchen and Dagonet fought the urge to leap up and greet the intruder. The footsteps began again, more hurried this time as the being rushed to him.

"Are you awake?" A small voice cooed softly as they looked over the sleeping knight, who sat slumped against the hard wall on the cold ground. Gentle prodding of small fingers into his shoulder caused Dagonet to open his eyes and stare at the red headed child. Cara stared back at him with big green eyes that were filled with worry and confusion. "Why are you sleeping in the kitchen? Did you get hungry and fall down? I do that sometimes."

Cara pulled her hand back from him, twisting left and right nervously. She was dressed in an oversized tan shirt that was perfect for a sleeping gown on her. Dagonet didn't respond at first to her questions. Instead, he looked about himself and tried to remember why exactly he was in the kitchen at all. He turned his head right and half expected to see Rhoswen sitting beside him, slumped over in sleep at his side where she had been the night before, but she was gone with no trace that she had ever been there to begin with.

"Are you alright?" Cara asked again, slowly becoming worried again as Dagonet pulled himself up from the floor. His shirt sat askew over his large chest, one sleeve rolled up while the other hung twisted on his arm. Cara watched the knight as he looked about the room again as though expecting Rhoswen to appear from hiding. Dagonet moved to his sword that laid against the kitchen table where he had placed it the night before and then looked back at Cara.

"Where is Rhoswen?" He asked and moved closer to the girl.

"I do not know… I thought you would know. When I woke up, she was gone from bed. I searched everywhere. Even the cellar." Cara replied in a small voice that conveyed her fear for the woman she looked up to so much. She twisted left and right again, tugging at the shirt on her and avoiding his stare. He could see he still made her nervous, but she had come to him when she could find no trace of Rhoswen. He had to be winning her over, even if just a little.

"When did you see her last?" Dagonet knelt before the girl, placing his hands on one bent knee and smiling warmly at her.

"Last night. She got up and said she was going to get a drink of water. I fell asleep again and when I woke up this morning, she wasn't there." Her eyes darted to him and away again several times, tears prickling.

"Shall we look for her together?" He asked and held out a hand to her, waiting for her to take it. Timidly, she placed her delicate hand in his large mit. He wrapped his fingers around her hand and stood up, leading them both out of the kitchen and down the hall towards the main room. People were already gathering; young, old, wounded, and sick. They all awaited their healer, who was now missing.

Dagonet searched the crowd, but he did not catch sight of a fair-haired woman bustling about. He could see that the people were doing the same; searching, questioning, worrying.

"She's not here. Sir Dagonet, where is she?" Cara whined softly from beside him and gripped his hand tighter. Her bottom lip began to quiver as tears prickled her eyes again. She began to hide behind him, peeking out from around his long, muscular leg at all the people inside the Healing House. Dagonet said nothing, but held onto her hand firmly as his eyes scanned the area in search of Rhoswen. She was supposed to be treating these people; her people. She was so duty bound, so driven, but she was nowhere in sight. It was… unsettling.

"Cara, I want you to back to Rhoswen's room and wait there for me." Dagonet ordered gently, looking down at the small girl behind him. She stared up at him with her big green eyes filled with alarm.

"Where are you going? Where is Rhoswen?" Cara asked, looking back around the room as she began to cry. Tears flooded down her cheeks and left small damp tracks on the dirt floor. "I want Rhoswen! Where is she?"

Dagonet caught the gazes of several people, who watched him and Cara in bewilderment. They questioned him with their eyes, asking where their healer was. She was always here and ready to handle their problems, but now she was nowhere in sight. There were no crates of herbs or potions resting on the table. No bedrolls had been laid out, no smell of incents, and the windows were still closed tightly by the shutters.

"You said you would protect her! You promised!" Cara was becoming nearly inconsolable and angry. She ripped her hands from his and Dagonet quickly turned to kneel before Cara. He placed his hands on her shoulders firmly as she stood crying with accusing eyes. He knew she was afraid. She feared for Rhoswen's safety, feared what was coming, feared what Marcellus would do to her. Cara's anger began to subside to grief as she continued to cry before him. "You lied…! Just like everyone else. You said you would protect her. Where is she?"

"Calm child." Dagonet tried to coo and then looked back at the eyes that stared at him. They awaited him to say something, to tell them what was going on or where their healer was; their problem solver.

"Oh child, stop your nonsense." A familiar face among the crowd walked closer, step after aching step and stared down at Cara. She wiped her face, closed her eyes and then cried more. The old man, whom Dagonet had conversed with only a day or so ago, rolled his eyes and looked to Dagonet. "Women, young or old, are all the same."

The old man had grumbled his jab, but it held lighthearted tone. His words had brought Dagonet peace. If only for a moment…

"Knight, where is the healer?" A woman spoke up, stepping closer to get a good look at Dagonet. "My daughter needs help. Has something happened?"

Dagonet did not know what to say. He stood up tall and looked around the room at the people. Cara held tightly to the end of his shirt as she hid behind him. The people stared at him expectantly.

"Where is Rhoswen?" A man shouted from the back of the group. "I am in need of aid. She is supposed to be here!"

"Yes, where is Elder Rhoswen? Has she fallen ill?" An older woman asked from where she sat in a chair. The people were beginning to converge on him, feeding off of each other's fears and riling one another.

"Is she alright? Has something happened?"

"Where is she? She's always here."

"I need help. She is supposed to be here. She is always here."

"We need aid. Where is the healer?"

"Friends, please. Please!" The older man chimed in with a hand raised and stepping before the group. He moved slowly, hunched slightly and wincing in pain. "I am sure Rhoswen is fine. Perhaps caught up in some business of her own at the moment. We can be patient and wait for her return."

"We cannot! We need help and she is our healer!" A middle-aged woman shouted, looking around at the people beside her. "We need her! She needs to help us. We are in pain. What is wrong with her? Doesn't she know? Doesn't she care?"

"Of course she does." Dagonet found himself speaking up. His eyes landed on the woman with a stare of near disbelief. His eyes then trailed to the others in the room. "After everything… can you not allow her one moment of peace?"

"Peace? My son is wounded!"

"My daughter is sick!"

"I need help!"

"We all need help!"

"Where is the healer?!"

"QUIET!" The old man shouted and the room fell as silent as a grave as though God, himself, had issued the order. Dagonet looked to the old man, silently intrigued at how he called attention so devoutly. The old man closed his eyes, sighed and then reopened them to look around the Healing House. "My friends, please. Rhoswen is faithful to her duty and to all of us. I am sure she was most likely heading to the gardens for new herbs, seeing as how her store room has been run ragged as of late from our constant and incessant griping."

The old man turned to Dagonet and gave him a look, conveying to him to follow exit while he could.

"Sir Dagonet, would you please take Cara and go fetch the young lady of the house? Please be sure to tell her," the old man's tone changed and Dagonet realized it was not for him, but the people who stood watching and listening, "tell her to take as **much** time as she needs collecting her herbs for this wretched lot of ungrateful heathens."

Dagonet heard the grumbles and scoffing from the people in the room. He gave a single nod to the old man, eyes conveying his appreciation and quickly scooped Cara up into his arms. Cara didn't resist and instead she wrapped her arms around his neck as she cried softly. He carried her out of the Healing House, grateful for the old man's help. He had been in mobs before and knew their dangerous potentials when they were not satisfied.

He held Cara firmly to him. His left arm rested beneath her rump, holding her up and letting her bare legs dangle from beneath the oversized shirt. His right arm reached up her back to support her and his hand rested on her back between her shoulder blades. She turned her face into the crook of his neck, sniffling and hiding.

"I do not understand." Cara spoke up, voice hitching and muffled. "Why are they going to hurt her?"

Dagonet walked along through town, ignoring stares and whispers that followed them. He thought about her question long and hard. He understood Marcellus' reasoning and it was unfortunate that it made sense when looking at everything from the Commander's point of view. Rhoswen was a root problem; her mother, her status, her outspoken rebellious nature, and her rejection of the man who controlled her home. For Marcellus to survive and thrive in Celtica, Rhoswen could not exist and vice versa. How do you explain that to a child though…?

"You must understand, Cara, that there are bad men in the world. Some wish to see the world burn with no care for anyone other than themselves." Dagonet explained and felt Cara turn her head so that her forehead pressed against his jawline.

"What about the white knights though?" Her small voice and question made him smile.

"Where there is bad, there is also good." Dagonet replied as he headed to the edge of town where he knew the garden to be.

"So Marcellus is just a _bad man_ , a black knight?" Cara asked as she lifted her head from his shoulder and looked at him. "But why does he want to hurt Rhoswen? She is so nice."

"I do not know." Dagonet lied to the child and then ceased his walk. "Sometimes there is no answer as to why people act the way they do."

"You are a white knight." Cara stared at him, seeming to digest his words and then she laid her head back on his shoulder. Under her breath, Dagonet heard her words, "The white knight is supposed to defeat the black knight and save the pretty girl…"

Dagonet said nothing for a long moment. Her words burned themselves into his mind, replaying over and over again. He held the girl tighter to him and continued on his way to the garden.

"I will." He promised softly, unable to see the tired smile on Cara's face.

* * *

Rhoswen reached out towards the lavender, hands gently touching the delicate purple flowers. The scent calmed her, but only slightly. Her mind was unsteady, reeling from thoughts that came and went in such a scattered fashion that she was having trouble concentrating on anything.

When she had awoken this morning, she had found her head resting on a shoulder; Dagonet's shoulder. He was sound asleep, breathing steady and peacefully. She watched him for a long while, wondering what he dreamt of. Battle? His home? Perhaps someone awaiting his return? A beloved even?

She had snuck away, leaving him to his dreams and had gone to the store room. Her shelved were becoming bare. She had no time it seemed like anymore to gather the necessary components to treat her people. No herbs, no spices, no flower, no tonics, no salves. Her shelves held dust and empty containers. It saddened her to think about the shelves staying bare, the people having no healer. She had not had time either to find a replacement, to begin the training of an apprentice to replace her after she was gone.

She had dressed carefully so as not to wake Cara, who slept soundly in her bed. She knelt beside the bed and brushed the unruly red hair form the girl's face. She watched her sleep for a long moment with a smile on her lips. Before the sentence of death, she had planned on adopting the girl and making her an apprentice. That and every idea of marrying and having children of her own was now a distant dream out of reach. Rhoswen kissed Cara's forehead, pulled the covers up around her and left for the gardens.

Rhoswen had been there for hours picking, tending, planting, and desperately trying not to think about her impending doom. Being there, in the gardens, away from everyone and everything, was her paradise. She could relax. She could breath. She could just be without anyone needing her, talking to her, trying to force her to be something she did not wish to be. There were no rules, no laws, no harsh whispers, no accusing glances, no Romans, no soldiers, just her and her garden and the sun and the sky.

Rhoswen looked up at the sky and saw the sun was getting close to midday. She took a deep breath, sighed and looked down at the basket that held her collection of herbs and other useful ingredients. She had herbs and spices for inflammation, for pain, for nausea, for bleeding. Herbs, flower, spices, and remedies for everything. Except one thing… the one thing no one could prevent or cure: death.

Her eyes moved back to the lavender. Her fingers gently caressed the flowers as her mind wandered in off in a dark direction; a sinister direction.

 _How easy it would be…_ – she thought as she pinched the flowers off from their branch. She twirled the stem in her fingers and then placed it in her basket. Her eyes scanned her collection, fingers gently brushing each herb and plant and flower.

"Rhoswen!"

The healer was startled by the call of her name and quickly searched for the source. A flash of red shot through the garden straight for her. A smile spread across her lips as she opened her arms and caught the young girl, who launched herself at the embrace. Rhoswen held her tightly, rocking from side to side.

"We were so worried!" Cara exclaimed and pulled back so she could look up at the woman. Rhoswen knitted her eyebrows together in confusion and shook her head slightly, about to ask aloud what the girl meant. "Sir Dagonet and I looked everywhere for you."

Rhoswen noticed the tall knight standing a few yards away at the beginning of the garden. He watched from afar with hands crossed over his chest. Rhoswen noticed his disheveled appearance instantly. His shirt sat open to expose part of his chest, one sleeve pushed up his arm, no sword at his side. Their eyes met and Dagonet gave her a single nod while smiling and allowing his worry to wane. Rhoswen did not smile back though. She simply watched him for a long moment as thoughts raced through her mind. When she saw Dagonet's smile begin to disappear she looked back at the girl in her arms.

"We were worried the bad men took you away." Cara's voice had grown soft as though afraid that if she spoke the words, then they would come true. Rhoswen tucked some of the girl's unruly hair behind her ear. She did not smile. She did not speak. She only looked Cara over, fixing her hair and then letting a hand rest on the girl's cheek. Her thumb ran gently over Cara's cheekbone beneath her eye.

"Rhoswen?" Cara asked with worry in her voice. This was not like the woman she looked up to; quiet, sad, a ghost. Cara raised a hand and touched it to Rhoswen's forehead. "Are you sick?"

Rhoswen shook her head and ceased her ministrations, pulling Cara's hand away. She released Cara from her hold and then took her basket on one arm. She covered her collection with a dainty piece of cloth to protect them from the sun and then stood. She looked towards Dagonet again, no smile or emotion on her face, and then held her free hand out to Cara. Cara took it without asking another question and allowed Rhoswen to lead her towards the knight.

Dagonet had noticed the odd behavior immediately upon nearing the gardens. Rhoswen had been kneeling on the ground and staring blankly at the lavender bush as though in a trance. Her face was twisted almost in an expression of sadness and pain, mind lost somewhere Dagonet dare not question about. As she and Cara came upon him now, Rhoswen carried no expression at all. Had he not known better, he would have believed he was looking at a ghost.

"My lady?" Dagonet questioned as she passed and quickly took hold of her upper arm that carried her herbs. She stopped, looked at his hold on her and then met his stare. She said nothing and waited for him to speak again. "Something has happened."

Rhoswen said nothing once again and looked to Cara, who held tightly to her hand with a silent vow to never let go again.

"Go play with your friends. Come to the Healing House for supper when the sun begins to set. I have work to do now." Rhoswen's voice was soft, but hollow. Cara looked up at Dagonet, seeming to ask him silently if she could stay, but Dagonet nodded his head for her to follow Rhoswen's instruction. Cara hesitantly released Rhoswen's hand and headed back into town as Rhoswen had commanded.

Rhoswen did not even bat an eye as Cara departed and simply continued on her way with Dagonet following behind her. He watched her closely as they entered town. He spotted soldiers on the wall watching her with a steady gaze and whispering amongst themselves. Townspeople were talking in hushed voices as she passed. Their gazes were sad and sympathetic. Dagonet looked back to Rhoswen, who avoided all stares and all words spoken to her or about her. She was lost. Lost in her own despair. Dagonet had seen it before; had felt it before when the Romans had come to collect him and Bors from their home. The entire journey to Rome, the months of training, he had been cold and distant much like she was now. It made things easier and harder at the same time.

Rhoswen had led herself and Dagonet back to the Healing House. She stopped at the doors, hearing the chatter from within. Dagonet walked up beside her and took hold of her hand on the door knob. She said nothing and did not flinch at his touch.

"You do not have to go in there." He spoke gently to her, imaging that when she opened the door she would be instantly bombarded by people who sought her help, who demanded her attention in her time of despair.

"Yes I do." She looked up at him and took her left hand, placing it on top of his that held her right hand on the doorknob. "These are my people and they need me."

"And what do you need, Rhoswen?" He was quick to reply and took her hand in his, holding it firmly yet gently. His eyes stared into hers, searching for something more that he knew was there beneath all the pain and despair. He wanted nothing more than to pull her too him, hold her tightly to his chest and safe in his arms.

 _The old man was right._ – he thought as his eyes scanned her delicate face. He would be a fool to try and deny his affections for this woman. She was like a shooting star; bright, beautiful, fleeting. She was caring, tender, but also strong and stubborn. She could lash you and then heal you all in the same strike. His eyes dropped to her lips; full and pink. Oh, how he wanted to seal them with his own in a promise that she would never have to worry or feel sadness or fear again; a promise to protect her, love her.

Rhoswen noticed the change in his stare as his eyes fell to her lips. His seriousness softened to tenderness as she saw the look in his eyes. She was no simple minded girl with her head in the stars. She knew what his look meant. She understood perfectly well what he was thinking, what he wanted from her, but she couldn't. Not now. It would be cruel. He was wonderful; strong, intimidating, but kind and gentle. He made her nervous and soothed her all with a single stare. He made her feel safe and unsure just by his presence alone.

Rhoswen looked down at their hands and squeezed his hand gently. She pulled away and moved to his sleeve, pulling it down and straightening it to match his other one. She then fixed the front of his shirt, tying it up so only a bit of his chest was visible.

"I could use your help tending to them all, if you please, Sir Dagonet. Other than myself, you are the only own in town who has any knowledge of herbs and tonics." She looked back up at him and offered a half smile, though not entirely feeling it reach her eyes to soothe him. Dagonet's expression fell, realizing she was pulling away from him and gave a short nod. He understood why and he even knew that it was for the best. He would never marry, never have children, never have her. He couldn't and she couldn't have him.

 _Unless the plan works._ – he thought as the plan Sorcha and Esme devised bounced around in his head. If they could get her to join the Celestials, if they could remove the soldiers and put an end to Marcellus, then there would be hope for Rhoswen. He would never have her. He could never have her. Not as a knight under the service of Rome and he could never give her the life she deserved. If the plan succeeded, he and the other knights would leave and he would never see her again, but she would be alive and she could have a future with a husband, children, everything she dream of.

"Shall we, Sir Dagonet?" Rhoswen asked as she headed into the Healing House. Dagonet followed behind her, close at her heels.

"Healer, please!" A woman shouted, ushering her daughter towards Rhoswen. A man pushed passed them, trying to earn attention from the healer first. The elder sat or stood if they could, waiting patiently for their turn.

"Friends please, be patient." Rhoswen spoke up and headed towards the table at the back by the entrance to the hallway. She set the basket on the table and turned around to face the townspeople. "I will tend to the old, then the sick, then the wounded."

Rhoswen rolled up her sleeves and moved to the old man, the one who had rescued Dagonet earlier that day, and knelt before him as he sat in a chair. Dagonet stood back by the table and looked from Rhoswen to the basket. He saw the lavender poking out from beneath the cloth and tossed the cloth back to look at her collection. He looked back at Rhoswen and caught the eyes of the old man, who watched him carefully as though knowing exactly what Dagonet had been looking for; yew or hemlock. There was neither.

Dagonet looked away and then headed for another elderly man, who stood against the far wall for support. He felt a twinge in his chest as he looked over the wounds on the man's hands, but the twinge was in response to something else. Dagonet looked back at Rhoswen, watching her as she questioned the old man in the chair before her. Dagonet tried to remember what exactly he had seen in the store room. Had he seen anything resembling the poisonous plants there? He remembered several shelves with something on them, but could not draw to mind their shape or color.

He suddenly realized that a pair of deep blue eyes stared back at him. Rhoswen met his gaze with an emotionless look, eyes open and examining. Dagonet turned back to the wounds on the elderly man's hands.

"A salve and some bandages is all this will need." Dagonet explained and placed the man's hands back in his lap. He smiled at him and the elderly man nodded his head, eyes then traveling to look beyond the knight.

"I will grab a yarrow salve for that." Rhoswen's voice caught Dagonet off guard. She stood behind him, looking at the wounds on the elderly man's hands with her hands laced before her. Dagonet looked to her and nodded his head, getting to his feet. Rhoswen turned her gaze from the elderly man to Dagonet and smiled genuinely.

"I am glad to have met a man like you before the end." Rhoswen spoke softly so no one except Dagonet could hear. She looked away from his stare and towards people around the main room of the Healing House; her people. She felt tears prickle her eyes. She licked her lips and looked back up at Dagonet. "Gives me hope for this town once I am gone. Perhaps there will be more men like you to help it survive."

Rhoswen placed a hand gently in his and gave it a squeeze before walking away. She took her basket from the table and headed down the hall towards the store room. She didn't bother to close the door for she knew neither Dagonet nor any of the townspeople would follow her. She set the basket on the chair in the corner and moved about the room, pulling down salves and tonics, spices and herbs. She packed a crate and moved towards the door, intent on exiting.

However, she halted. She stared at the wall across the hallway and then looked to her right at the shelves nearest her. She closed the door slightly and looked behind at a shelf. A crate sat there with a cloth hung over top of it to hide its contents. She hesitantly drew the cloth back and stared down at the contents; roots shaped like white carrots, bright red berries, and a vial of liquid as green as fresh grass.

Hearing footsteps she quickly recovered the crate and opened the door to hide the shelf. As she headed out into the hallway, she nearly collided with Dagonet. She gave a small gasp, not having realized how close he had been and slapped a hand over her heart.

"You scared the daylight out of me." She breathed, her heart pounding in her chest. Dagonet looked into the store room and then back at her.

"I apologize. I came to see if you needed help." He explained and reached for the crate in her arms and she willingly gave it to him. It was fully stocked, but he knew that it was the last the store room had to offer. "Perhaps after we have seen to all the sick and wounded, I could help you prepare more items for your storeroom?"

"Yes, I would very much appreciate that." Rhoswen smiled at him, nerves on edge. "Shall we return?"

She began walking away down the hall and found that Dagonet took another moment to consider the storeroom's content. He stared long and hard as Rhoswen worried, but continued onwards. As they entered the room, she went straight back to work. She moved to the mother and daughter, who had approached her earlier and questioned the ailments.

She looked back at Dagonet, who searched the crate for the yarrow salve and pulled it out from within. Rhoswen's nerves sparked and tingled as her hands became clammy. He had been so close to seeing her dark secret. Would he have known what it was? Would he have figured out what she was planning on doing?


	11. Teach na Réaltaí

~Four Days Left~

~Vayle's Cottage~

Vayle stepped out from her bedroom in a yellow dress with tan trim and saw that her cottage was empty. She had assumed such a sight when she had not heard the low, harsh whispers when she awoke. However, she did not expect all of the knights to have gone from her home. There was no trace of them ever having been there. She expected them to return later that day though.

Arthur had promised his help and the help of his knights. He had promised they would stay until the end; whatever end. He promised they would fight, should the need arise and she trusted his word. She found that he reminded her very much of her late husband, who had also been a Roman military man of high standing. Her husband had been strong and proud, but not so much so that he no longer cared for the masses. He and Arthur were both very caring in that regard and, despite Arthur's young age, he too was just as proud and strong.

When she had seen her husband, Aetius, she was stricken and so had he been. It was not long before he asked her to marry him and then took her along with him on his campaign. She admired her husband, loved him, worshipped him and bore him two sons. Never did she have to worry about whether he was a high-born prick who was concerned only with his work. He had always said, _people before duty_ and he lived by it. He had aided her in burying the girls when they had found them dead on the posts. He had fought against Marcellus and his men and gave his life to keep her and Rhoswen safe; her entire family had… her honorable Roman husband, her dignified sons… all died protecting their Celtic trollops because it was the right thing to do.

Arthur shared these traits. His willingness to aid them, despite talk of how they should leave and why these people were not worth the time. For that she trusted him to keep his word. He may not be able to save Rhoswen, but he was determined to do all he could to attempt to. If he couldn't, then he would stand watch with them all as Rhoswen's life went out in a fit of flames. Just as her mother's had.

Vayle sighed heavily and licked her thinning lips. She walked to the fire in the hearth that had burned down to embers and poked it with a fireiron. The embers bit her hand, but she continued to stroke the dead source of warmth. She took back the fireiron and leaned against it as she stared at the slow burning flame that rose around the blackened wood.

"Like a phoenix rising from the ashes." Vayle's words were soft and far away. Vayle placed the fireiron back in its place by the hearth and stood up, dusting her dress off. "If only my niece shared your wonder."

The front door to the cottage swung open, startling her and forcing her to spin around with hand over heart. Gallius walked passed the threshold with logs in his arms and kicked the door shut with his muddied boot.

"Gods dammit Gale!" She cursed at her nephew, who was very much like her sons; startling her, worrying her, aggravating her. Gallius didn't respond and instead just headed straight for the hearth, breathing it to life once more with new kindling. He stared at the small flames as he used the fireiron to poke around. Vayle watched him closely, sensing his distraught and not knowing what she could say to ease him.

"Gale," she began and looked down at him, "no matter what–"

"Arthur and the others have gone to survey the town and look for weak spots." Gallius cut her off, not wishing to hear whatever lies may cross her lips. Nothing would be fine if Rhoswen perished. He would too be finished should that happen. "They are also hoping to meet with Lorne and find out how many he has willing to fight. Would you find him and bring him here?"

Vayle's eyes went to the small window at the front of her cottage. She could see the sky turning colors; blue to purple and then pink to orange and finally red hot with the morning sun. It was beautiful, but foreboding in a way as the sky appeared to be on fire.

"Will you go speak with the Celestials? With Sorcha?" Vayle watched him carefully, waiting to see if he tensed at her name. He froze his ministrations on the hearth for only the briefest moment before continuing his work.

"Do you think they can convince her?" Galllius' voice was soft. It held both an air of mockery and pleading in it. Gallius looked away from the flames and to his aunt, begging her to assure him; to at least try. She wanted to, but she just didn't know anymore what would happen.

"I do not think it would hurt if they tried." Vayle replied and took a step closer to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. He nodded his head, accepting the answer and looked back at the hearth. He poked it again with the fireiron and then sat back on his heels, hand reaching out to cover the one on his shoulder. He gave Vayle's hand a squeeze.

"I will speak with them then." Gallius declared and Vayle smiled gently, wishing things were different.

"She still cares for you." She spoke carefully, but firmly. Gallius tensed and then stood, brushing her hand from his shoulder. He placed the fireiron back at the hearth and walked a few paces from her to the table. He sat down, removing his sword and lying it on top of the table.

"She made her choice. She is a Celestial and bound to their laws." Gallius responded and slid his sword from its sheath. He removed the piece of cloth from his pocket, running it over the steel in calculated movements. Vayle crossed her arms over her chest and watched him with a steady gaze, narrowing her eyes.

"Do not cast the first stone, Gallius Varden. You were raised better than that." She retorted, voice growing louder. And, if I recall correctly, you made your decision first. What would you have liked for the poor girl to have done?"

"She should have waited!" Gallius dropped his sword on the table, pushing his chair back and standing to face his aunt.

"You have been gone a long time, dear boy. Nearly fifteen years." Vayle's voice softened as she sighed heavily, shaking her head. Her grass green eyes piercing through him to the bone. "How long did you expect her to wait for you before she moved on with her life?"

Gallius said nothing. He turned his head away like a stubborn child, biting his tongue. He hated when Vayle was right. He said nothing and sat down in his seat again, cleaning his sword till he could see his face shimmer in the steel.

"The day you left was the day she understood she could never have you." Vayle patted him on the shoulder and moved towards the front door. She opened it, stared out at the woods bathing in sunlight and then sighed. "And if she could not have you, then she wanted no man at all."

Vayle walked out into the sunshine, closing the door behind her without a second look. Gallius heatedly threw his sword to the wayside and slammed a fist down on the table. He sat back in his chair and shook his head, teeth gnawing at his bottom lip.

* * *

~Healing House~

Rhoswen had woken up in a fit of crying. She sprung up in bed with her hands clamped in her hair, gripping and tugging the strands as she cried. No. She sobbed. Tears rushed down her cheeks in droves as her face flushed and breathing hitched. It was too much. It was all too much for her to handle. She did not want the responsibility, the curse, the choice.

She had dreamed of her mother, of her childhood, of watching as Marcellus dragged her through town by her hair to the pyre. She had been beaten bloodied and her once golden hair was orange and muddied with dried blood. Her legs appeared broken and bruised as though beaten with rods. Marcellus tied her to the post, her body slouching forward with exhaustion as her hair hide her face from view. Rhoswen pushed through the crowd, not as a child like she was back then, but as she was now; an adult on the verge of beginning her life. She called out to her mother as tears prickled her eyes. Some of the townspeople grabbed hold of her and kept her from nearing the pyre. Marcellus spoke something unintelligible, laughed and threw the burning torch on to the pile beneath her mother's feet. Rhoswen screamed for her mother, screamed for someone to save her, to stop the madness. Her mother began to move, feet trying to avoid the flames that climbed the pyre. She screamed as they suddenly engulfed her, head wrenching back as she looked up towards the sky. Rhoswen froze as the screams met her ears as her mother's face met her eyes, but it wasn't her mother anymore… it was her. Rhoswen stood on the pyre amongst the flames, screaming and crying in absolute torture as she looked to the people, whose faces had grown dark and blacked out. She begged them to help her, begged it to stop. The flames consumed her and then there was nothing more than smoke and ash.

That's when she had woken up. Sobbing, huffing and gasping as she sat in bed with her eyes closed tightly and hands gripping her hair. She said nothing and only cried, releasing all the emotion she had pent up. The door to her room burst open and Rhoswen looked up in surprise, but then fell back into her sobs when she saw Sorcha and Esme.

"Oh Rhoswen…" Sorcha breathed out and hurried to her side. She sat on the edge of the bed and pulled the young woman into her arms, cradling her as though she were a child. Esme stood a the door, watching with a heavy heart.

"Rhoswen!" A deep voice bellowed from the hallway as heavy footfalls followed, nearing the stairs that led to Rhoswen room. Sorcha looked to Esme and nodded her head quickly, signaling for her to cut Dagonet off in his pursuit. Esme moved from the room, but Dagonet was quick up the stairs. Esme tried to block his field of sight, but he saw Rhoswen on her bed; hair strewn across her face, eyes bloodshot, sobs wracking her body.

"What has happened?" Dagonet asked and tried to move into the room, but Esme placed a firm hand to his chest and pushed him back. She closed the bedroom door and forced Dagonet down several stairs.

"Tell me what has happened." Dagonet demanded, voice forceful and eyes accusing. Esme let her hand fall and sighed heavily.

"She is fine, sir Dagonet." Esme placed her hands on her hips and looked from the door at the top of the stairs to him. His eyes glued themselves to the door at the top of the stairs, heavy and wooden and slightly ajar. He could see light peeking out, but nothing more. He could hear whispering and soft crying.

"She was screaming." Dagonet looked back down at Esme, a tall lanky redhead who he could easily bypass if he tried. His right hand rested on the hilt of his sword as he prepared himself for battle against whatever foe Rhoswen was facing. Esme realized what he was thinking and let her hands fall to her sides. She knew he could blow on her and knock her over if he wanted. She couldn't stop him if he wanted to get to Rhoswen.

 _No one could_ – she thought as Dagonet's gaze fell back on the door at the top of the stairs. He tried desperately to see something; movement, color, a shadow. There was nothing except the light that peeked out.

"She had a bad dream is all. Sorcha is with her now." Esme explained, watching the knight carefully. He looked back at Esme and then the door once more. He could hear Rhoswen's soft cries and longed to comfort her as he had the other night. Hold her tightly to him, protect her from whatever wished to harm her, take on whatever burden she faced.

"She is crying." Dagonet breathed out, eyebrows narrowing as the soft cries fell on his ears. Esme could see the knight's heart ached at the thought of Rhoswen crying, in pain, suffering. She could see he wanted nothing more than to go to her, take her in his arms and hold her tight. Will the nightmares away so that she would only feel peace. Esme thought it strange; thought this knight strange. Tall, strong, silent with a steady gaze. He came across as a heated man like his brothers, who had no patience for others, but he was different. She could see it, sense it, had even been told so by Rhoswen herself.

"She will be alright." Esme spoke up again, noticing the look on the knight's face slowly droop into despair. "She is stronger than any nightmare. I assure you."

Dagonet nodded his head slowly, registering the words Esme spoke, but not truly listening. His hand fell away from his sword and he stood straighter.

"Come, let's find your brothers, shall we?" Esme, wrapped an arm around his and tried to lead him away, but he stood strong like a tree.

"No. I will wait here." Dagonet's voice was firm, but gentle enough. Esme let her arm slide out form his and sighed, closing her eyes and shaking her head.

"You cannot go in." Esme began and the sharp stare from Dagonet told her that he understood that. She took a deep breath, sighed heavily and clicked her tongue against her cheek. "Stay here and go no closer, knight. Otherwise Sorcha will have both our heads."

Esme motioned to where they stood on the stairs and then looked back up at the door as someone closed it firmly, latching it.

"Well that solves that." Esme grumbled softly, knowing Sorcha had heard every word they had spoken. Dagonet had seen as well that Sorcha wanted no interruptions with Rhoswen, barring him entrance into the room and their discussion. No matter. He wished only to guard and protect Rhoswen from further harm. He would see her once he was allowed. He would be patient.

"After they are finished, take Rhoswen to the waterfall deep in the woods. It will cheer her up. Always did when we were children." Esme spoke softly, staring up at Dagonet. He looked to her with a blank stare, but Esme knew he silently thanked her. She headed down the stairs and through the hall to the main room where several people sat awaiting their healer.

"All of you, leave! The Healer is not feeling well today." Esme ordered, not bothering to stop and chat with any of them. They tried to argue with her, ask her what was going on, but Esme was quick to shut them up. "Leave now or I shall curse you all for your selfish griping."

The people did not fight her. They looked to one another and then followed the orders of the redheaded Celestial without fuss. Esme's words frightened them, truly believing she had the power to curse them. Esme held the door open to them, ushering them out and then followed behind them. She picked up the wooden sign from inside the door and closed the door behind her. She hung the sign up that would stop any who tried to call on the Healer that day.

It read:

 _I apologize for any inconvenience._

 _I am not receiving visitors today._

 _Try again on the marrow._

 _Rhoswen_

Esme shook her head at the nicety of Rhoswen's words and then walked away from the Healing House. She didn't understand why she was so pleasant with them. They gave her no gratitude for her work, offered her no respite, and demanded more from her than anyone had a right to. It made no sense to Esme why her sister chose the life of a lowly healer.

 _She belongs with us_ – she thought as she headed into town square. – _she is a Celestial by birth._

Her eyes caught sight of two knights; Arthur's knights. She recognized them, but could not remember their names. She approached, step full and purposeful, stopping behind them as they whispered to one another. She noticed what they were looking at; the Elder House. They were surveying the property.

"The easiest way in will be from beneath in the cellar, knights. Unless you truly believe you can take on the breadth of Marcellus' army in the streets." Esme spoke up, not bothering to hush her words from prying ears. She hoped a soldier heard her and started a fight. She believed that was all they needed to tear Marcellus and his kingdom to ruin.

The two knights spun round to face her. The younger knight, youngest of the group with dark tight curls, scanned the area quickly before glaring at her. The older knight simply watched the woman with a steady gaze. He had done the same thing a few nights before when she had shown up at Vayle's cottage with fire in her eyes.

"Do you wish for someone to hear you?" The young knight scowled at her, narrowing his eyes. Esme arched an eyebrow at him and looked to the other knight with a similar stare. She had thought these knights different. She had believed the stories of barbarian nature and loose morals. They were not those men. Apparently.

"Good." Esme breathed out and turned on her heels, walking away. She stopped, turned and looked back at the two once more. "Well?"

"Well what?" The older knight asked, long golden hair drooping over one shoulder. He straightened himself and waited for her explanation.

"Are you coming or not?" Esme demanded and placed her hands on her hips. She was losing patience. "I do not have all day for silly little games like this. If you wish to discuss strategy, then you had better take me up on it now."

She shook her head of red hair and began walking away once more. The two knights exchanged a look. They were unsure whether to follow or not. The older knight followed the direction Esme had gone with his eyes and then looked to his brother. With a short snort of a sigh, he followed the fiery redhead.

"Come Galahad!" The older knight shouted, not looking over his shoulder at Galahad who stood in his spot in the street. Galahad shook his head, scowl on his face and followed behind his brother. Esme led the knights through town and towards the cemetery that sat on the side of a hill behind the stone walls. Galahad looked to his brother, eyes meeting and exchanging a look of distrust about the Celestial they followed.

"Where are you taking us?" The older knight questioned, but continued to follow her every step. Esme did not look behind her. She only walked on, leading them towards a building that had been crafted from stone with intricate carvings.

"To the Teach na Réaltaí." Esme replied without missing a step, looking over her shoulder quickly at the two knights. The knights looked to one another and then the older knight looked to her in question again.

"What does that mean?" He asked as he came to a halt, breath uneven from the incline of the hill they traveled up. Esme stopped as well, looking up the hill at the building that stood tall and then looked to the knights. She gave a small grin.

"Welcome to the House of the Stars." She looked between them once more and then continued up the hill, stopping before the large doors of the building. She pushed one of the doors open and left it ajar as she entered, disappearing into the darkness.

"What do you think Gawain?" Galahad asked, looking from the darkness beyond the door to his brother. Gawain looked around the area, surveying it and committing it to memory. He then looked to Galahad, sighed and continued the final steps to the door. He peeked inside, looked back to Galahad and then entered with hand on the hilt of his sword. Galahad stood outside for a long moment before following, nervous as to what laid beyond the large wooden doors. A strong hand reached out, grabbed hold of his armor and pulled him into the darkness.


	12. The Garden

Hey everyone! Thank you for holding on there for quite a while. I hope you enjoy this new chapter. I plan on finishing this story. So, please keep up the patience.

* * *

}{-Milk and Honey-}{

~Four Days Left: PART II~

~Healing House~

Rhoswen's cries had slowed and she now sat on the ledge of her window, staring out at the tree tops that stretched above the town walls. Her cheeks were stained red and crusted from the salty tears. Her eyes, once an entrancing blue, were an angry shade of red and puffy. Her breathing was shallow and hitched now and again. Her hair swayed gently in the afternoon breeze as the light of the sun made it shimmer like the rays off the first snow.

Sorcha watched her from where she stood, fingers laced before her at her waist and shoulders back. She could hear the knight in the stairwell move now and again, sword clanging gently against the stone. She turned her head slightly, eyes catching the ajar door. She wondered briefly if calling the knight in would help Rhoswen at all or if it would merely hamper her. It was a tricky situation, Sorcha knew this. It had been for days now as the sands of time were running out. There were only four days left. If only she could convince her to join the Celestials… she could protect her.

"Rhoswen," Sorcha called out to the other woman with little gentleness, "you must join us. You have **no** other options left."

"Yes, you and the others keep reminding me of that." Rhoswen spoke, voice harsh and raw. She refused to meet the Sorcha's gaze. Instead she watched the children below as they ran through the streets. "Is it I that has no other option or you?"

"Rhoswen," Sorcha's voice was chiding, "you must see reason. You have no time left. Four days from now and you will perish at Marcellus' hand if you do not join your sisters."

Sorcha bit out, taking a single step closer and then halted at the stare Rhoswen sent her. It was one of anger, but behind it was exhaustion and defeat. Sorcha took her step back as the fire within her was snuffed out.

"I do not wish to die, Sorcha. I rather enjoy living." Rhoswen's voice was soft, but broken. "Marcellus will never allow me to join you all. Whether I choose to continue to rebel or the life of a Celestial or even to marry him… I will die. Perhaps not by stake or flame or sword, but my soul will perish."

"…please Rhos." Sorcha's voice called to her, begged her to choose her way, the way of a Celestial. "Please, take your place with us. We will protect you. We are the only ones who can. Trust us as we trusted you all those years ago."

"I do trust you. All of you. However, if I should join, then who shall protect _you_?" Rhoswen's eyes once again filled with tears. "If I become a Celestial, if I take my vows, who will protect the coven from Marcellus? He will eliminate you all for mere association."

"He cannot. We are sacred."

"To whom?" Rhoswen countered and waited for a response, but none came. Sorcha felt a needle drive through her heart. Rhoswen turned and looked back out her window into the streets below. "The people fear Marcellus and in return Marcellus hates our people."

Rhoswen breathed out and shook her head, squinting her eyes against the brightness of the sun. Sorcha tilted her head slightly to one side, watching Rhoswen with a steady eye. She reminded her of something.

"He hates everything about us; the way we look, the way we speak, the way we dress. He has twisted our people's minds, turned them against us and each other. Now they fear us. They believe us witches instead of the divine. They see us as their end instead of guardians. If Marcellus wills us dead, the people will follow through."

"Rhoswen, where is this coming from? This isn't you." Sorcha shook her head of warm brown hair as she feels the despair radiating off of the other woman.

"Tell me, what am I like then?"

"You, above all of us, believe in our people and in the Celestials. **You** made us who we are." Sorcha's voice went firm. "You brought us back from the ashes and made us rise again to reclaim our birthrights. You did not let Marcellus win then and you cannot allow him to win now."

Rhoswen said nothing and only stared out the window. Sorcha took a breath, held it and then sighed softly. She was fighting a losing battle and she knew it. She now realized it. Esme knew it and so did the others.

"Please, sister. Help us bring Marcellus to justice." Sorcha moved towards the door when finally, she had had enough of begging. She opened it and looked back Rhoswen, watching the other woman as she looked down at her hands that laid in her lap. They traced the ring that sat on her right ring finger. Sorcha recognized it instantly.

"I thought Marcellus had taken that away from her that day." She commented as she moved closer to the other woman. Sorcha sat down on the opposite side of the window ledge and took Rhoswen's hand in her own. Her thumb traced the small silver ring gently as though trying to rememorize its design. It was simple. It was a pair of wings that ever so slightly touched on the top of her ring finger.

"He did. Took it right off of her charred hand." Rhoswen admitted, remembering that day. "The day Gale left, he stole it back for me. I suppose, looking back now, it was his way of saying goodbye and that he was sorry."

Sorcha raised her gaze to look over Rhoswen. She could see the pain, see the fear, hear it all in her voice. She looked so different from the girl she had grown up with. She had once been fierce; strong, loud, unafraid, a guardian. The woman who sat before her now resembled more of a frightened small bird with a broken wing.

"What are you so afraid of little bird?" Sorcha's question struck something within her like a musician playing a sharp chord out of tune. Rhoswen raised her gaze and shook her head at the whole thing; the question, the nickname, the insinuation of fear. But, she was afraid… wasn't she? She feared death. She feared Marcellus and his men. She feared what they would do to her town, her people, the people she cared about. That wasn't it though. None of those answers were it and Sorcha knew it. She understood the root beneath the tree that had taken hold of her heart and rotted.

"I fear," Rhoswen began with a soft, shaky voice that much resembled a frightened bird, "Marcellus for the monster that he truly is. I fear my father for the coward he has become. I fear my brother will leave me again to face the ever-rising tide alone."

The room fell quiet between the women. Laughter from the children down in the street filtered in as the sun's rays fell over the two in the window.

"I fear… dying the same horrible death my mother did." Rhoswen's voice choked as tears sprang to her eyes. "Above all though, I fear I have not and cannot do my mother or her memory justice."

"Oh, little bird…" Sorcha's voice trickled away as Rhoswen began to cry softly. Tears fell from her tightly closed eyes to their hands that lay clasped together and onto the ring. Sorcha's grip tightened to give Rhoswen strength. She reached up a hand to wipe her cheek free from the tears and brushed her hair behind her ear. They were separated by blood, but very much sisters nonetheless and had always acted as such growing up. After Marcellus arrived, things had changed and that included their relationship.

"Little bird," Sorcha spoke gently in a familiar way, "like the great phoenix from the ashes, you will rise mighty. It is your birthright as bestowed upon you by your mother, whose ring you now wear in her honor. You are her daughter. Her only daughter. She was one of us and you should be too. She is proud of you; of how strong you are, how brave you have been and will be."

Rhoswen stared at the ring, but said nothing. Hey gaze slowly raised to meet Sorcha's gaze. Sorcha smiled, sun beating off the left side of her face and making her dark hair glow a warm chocolate brown.

"You are a phoenix." Sorcha clasped her hands over Rhoswen's tightly and smiled warmer than she had in a long while. She saw something within Rhoswen that she had not seen before. A memory of the woman who had gone to stake so many years ago, to protect her children, her daughter, her home. Sorcha patted Rhoswen's hands and stood. "Only when you are ready, little bird, will you rise again."

Sorcha walked out of the room and shut the door behind her. She headed down the stairs and spotted the knight sitting there awaiting Rhoswen. He stood as he heard her footfalls and faced her, hand on hilt of his sword.

"Lady Sorcha." He gave a small, polite bow of his head to acknowledge her. "How is Lady Rhoswen?"

"She is not well, sir Dagonet. She has had quite the scare today that has drudge up some unpleasant memories of her mother." Sorcha spoke up as she took in how he still towered over her despite her standing two steps higher than him. "Also of what her future might hold if we do not act quickly."

Dagonet looked to the closed door and Sorcha took the moment to observe him, examine him from head to foot. He was robust; rugged, strong, and powerful. He had broad shoulders, large strong hands, a frame that was firm, a gaze that was fierce. He was a bear of a man, but he also had a tenderness about him.

"Will she see me?" Dagonet asked gently, hand falling from the hilt of his sword and to his side. His face, despite the ugly scar that stretched across from eye to chin, became soft and filled with something Sorcha would describe as concern. She could see why Rhoswen was attracted to him. This made her smile.

"Sir Dagonet, you have been so patient and understanding with her. Your kindness may be just the thing to mend her." Sorcha placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Please, do not forsaken her just yet. Our little bird has had her wings broken many times over. They need to heal before she can soar again."

Sorcha let her hand slip from his shoulder as she stepped down the staircase. Dagonet turned around to watch her go.

"If she did take her vows," he started and earned Sorcha's full attention. The Celestial turned around on the staircase and looked up at him, "would she be protected from Marcellus?"

"Yes. If she takes her vows, then _all of us_ can protect her." Sorcha assured him, nodding her head once slightly as though giving him a secret gesture.

"All of who?"Dagonet questioned unsure exactly of the answer she had given him.

"The people who care about her most." Sorcha's encrypted words were the only response he was going to get. She turned away from him and headed down the stairs with nothing more to say. Dagonet turned back towards the door that was shut at the top of the stairs. Slowly, he climbed and stood before it. He listened carefully, but heard only slight rustling from inside.

"Lady Rhoswen?" He called to her as he gripped the handle of the door. He got no reply and so he pushed the door open gently so as not to frighten her. Dagonet spotted her at the window, standing before it as she fixed the pale-yellow dress she had changed into on her bodice. It came to her ankles and the hemming held off-white stitching. It was plain overall and perfect for what she had planned.

Dagonet watched as she swept her hair to one shoulder and took hold of the brush from the night stand to her right. With several long, concentrated strokes, she brushed her hair till it was as smooth as silk. She set the brush down, turned to face Dagonet as she began to braid her hair in two sections. When the braids were complete she twisted them round her head and secured them in a Milkmaid's braid.

Her eyes met his and he could tell she had been crying much harder than he had realized. Her eyes were still red, irises as blue as a sapphire, and they were puffy. Her cheeks were flushed from the effort and tear stains were upon her skin. He understood what Sorcha had meant when she told him Rhoswen was unwell. She was broken down and thoroughly exhausted.

"I am heading for the garden to collect items for the store room." She spoke up, her voice returning to normalcy despite him having heard it in the most despairing fashion only moments ago. Instead of small and broken it was now firm and gentle. "Will you help me, Sir Dagonet?"

"Of course, M'lady. However, I would much rather see you rest before returning to your duties." Dagonet replied and stood up straighter, pulling his shoulders back and down in the stance he had been trained to present himself with. His eyes held hers in a firm stare.

"Rest will come soon enough." Rhoswen replied. Dagonet did not like the wordage as he understood it to have a double meaning. "For now, I must attend to the sick and the wounded. As is my duty as Healer."

"As you wish." He responded and took a step back from the door, gesturing towards it. "I will follow you, Lady Rhoswen. As is **my** duty."

His inflection was not lost on her. He meant he would follow her anywhere she wished, that he would protect her, fight for her. She did not acknowledge his words or their meaning. Instead, she headed straight for the door and begun down the stairs. Dagonet followed her every step.

It was a short walk to the gardens, which was one of the largest Dagonet had ever seen for such a small town. However, it was filled with everything a healer needed to make their wares. There were mountain cornflowers, hedge woundwort, dogtooth violets, Speedwell, yarrow, lungwort, Butcher's Broom, and so many more. There were poisonous plants too; nightshade, hemlock, yew, wolfsbane, Daphne...

 _So, she does have access to these plants_ – Dagonet thought to himself as he stared down at the Daphne plant. He lifted his gaze and followed Rhoswen as she walked through the garden. A basket lay beside several wooden crates and she retrieved it, slinging it onto her forearm to carry with her. She then reached down to pick up one of the small wooden crates and turned back to face Dagonet. She moved towards him and handed it to him, waiting a moment for him to take it.

"You have poisonous plants here. Deadly plants Rhoswen." Dagonet announced, knowing that she knew exactly what the plants were and how they could be used. The use of her name, only her name, felt serious and hung heavy over the garden. Rhoswen looked away from him, face expressionless as she searched for how to explain. Her gaze fell on a bush a few feet away and she tossed the crate to the ground at his feet.

"Do you know why I come here, Dagonet?" Rhoswen asked as she moved to the bush, basket on her arm and plucked a single purple-pink flower. Holding it between thumb and pointer finger, she walked back to Dagonet with grace. He shook his head at her and held her stare. Rhoswen gestured to the entirety of the garden, marveling herself at how many different types of plants were there.

"There are plants here that can save lives. They can ease a fever, protect from infection, aid an upset stomach, even heal the deepest of wounds or burns. But, yes, there are also plants here that take lives, such as the nightshade or **this**." She held up the purple-pink flower, twirling it between her thumb and forefinger. Dagonet examined the flower in her fingers and waited quietly and patiently. "This is Oleander."

"I recognize it from home." Dagonet retorted, taking it from her to examine it further in more detail. "It is poisonous."

"Yes, it is." Rhoswen moved her eyes over the garden again, squinting against the glare of the sun. "But it can also heal. Oil from this plant can help with muscle cramps, ease paralysis, soothe skin conditions, help conditions of the heart, and even speed up healing times for wounds."

Dagonet looked up from the flower to meet her gaze. Her expression had changed, lightened and bright. Her dress, pale-yellow and seemingly simple, appeared to shimmer in the sunlight as though it were a single ray cast down to earth. She appeared as though a single ray; a ray of golden sun, of hope. Rhoswen took a deep breath and sighed, allowing the smallest of smiles to grace her face.

"This garden is mine. I have control over it." Rhoswen looked around her piece of heaven that Vayle had given to her. One healer to another. "Here I can create tonics, salves, antidotes to save lives, but also take life away when too painful to struggle through or ease it so one may pass into the next."

Rhoswen looked back at Dagonet briefly to see if he was following her, understanding what she meant. He did. All too well. He understood how it felt to not have control of one's own life, to watch as others pull on strings to make you dance to their song.

"In my garden, I do not have to be afraid because I am the only one in control." Rhoswen felt tears prickle her eyes and she fought them, willed them away. "These plants even, they live because I tend to them. I pluck the weeds and bring them water, trim them when they have grown too large to sustain themselves. When I die… when I die, they shall perish too for there will be no one left to care."

Dagonet saw the gooseflesh creep up her neck as her expression fell. She wasn't cold. He could see that the sun had left red kisses on her skin already from exposure. The gooseflesh had appeared because of the realization. The realization that she really was going to die, her garden was going to die, her control was gone.

Dagonet knew that until now it had always been at the back of her mind. It had been something that _might_ happen. Now came the realization that it **would** for certain. She had four days. Four days to come to terms. Four days to say goodbye. Four days to make her peace. What little joy her garden had brought her, what little distraction it had been, was now gone too as her mind wandered to dark places. Dagonet could see this in her eyes, on her face.

"Rhoswen…" his voice was warm and soft like a summer's breeze. Rhoswen closed her eyes and concentrated on her breathing. She battled the tears that threatened to fall, battled the despair that gripped her heart. Dagonet saw the struggle etch itself into her features. He saw her hands ball into tight fists, saw her jaw clench, saw her body go rigid. He took the flower in his hand and gently reached out, pushing it into her hair by her right ear. His fingers trailed the delicate flesh of her ear as he let his hand fall to her chin, catching it in his fingers tenderly. He tilted her chin up so she faced him, but she refused to open her eyes.

"Look at me." Dagonet's words were not a demand. His voice, deep and rich, entranced her to meet his gaze. Her eyes held tears and blurred her vision of him.

"I really thought…" her words trailed off as the tears began to spill over, running down her cheeks softly. She bit her bottom lip. "No one can save me now. It is too late."

Dagonet moved his hand so that the palm sat against her cheek, fingers gracing the back of her neck and her bound hair. His thumb brushed away the tears as he stared down at her, expression unreadable. He felt something inside of his chest burn and ache, commanding him to tug her close to himself. He listened and took hold of her wrist, pulling her into him. He wrapped her up in his arms tightly as the need to comfort her, protect her from the world, grew stronger.

Rhoswen stood in shock, tear stains on her cheeks as the tall bear of a knight held her tightly. She blinked several times as realization settled in her mind. The basket from her forearm fell as she wrapped her arms around his waist without hesitation. She hid her face in the fabric on his chest as her fingers gripped his shirt, turning her knuckles white and the back of her hands red. For several moments, she sobbed as she had the night he had found her in the kitchen. Dagonet turned his head, lowered it and placed his chin on her head.

"Please, Rhoswen. Believe me when I say that if… if we were allowed to marry you, if only to save you, we would. All of us would do so." Dagonet knew his words were useless, meaningless, but he knew not what else he could say. He knew what he _wanted_ to say, but those words would be graceless and tactless coming from him. He who has never said anything of the sort, never dreamed of ever saying something of the sort. He felt unsure and slightly nervous for the first time since the Romans had come to claim him and Bors as children.

"I understand, Sir Dagonet. Please, you do not need to explain to me." Rhoswen was quick to end the conversation and pull back from him, knowing that what they were doing was inappropriate. She could stand the ridicule, the stain on herself for the actions, but she did not wish Dagonet to face them. "I understand. So long as you all are in servitude to the Roman Empire, you cannot marry."

She felt ridiculous, embarrassed, and a bit ashamed of herself. All she wanted to do was fall away into the background and disappear. She was supposed to be strong. She was supposed to be in control. It did not matter if she faced certain death. She needed to be the mountain, not the river.

"Rhoswen, please." Dagonet pleaded gently with a firm voice as he reached out for her again. He did not quite understand what he was pleading for, but something in him felt it so strongly. He caught her hand, holding it firm but tenderly in his own. Rhoswen did not pull away as she was finding it harder to deny her feelings for the knight and instead all she wanted to do was hide from the world in his arms. Again, though, she knew that this could not be. If circumstances were different… perhaps. All she was doing now was dreaming and even tainting his title as knight if she allowed these intimate moments to continue. She could only imagine what Marcellus would do if word got back to him about the woman he had asked to marry was consorting with a Sarmatian knight. Especially since she, a Celt, had turned him, a Roman, down.

Rhoswen eyes traveled down to his hand. She chewed on her bottom lip a bit and took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. She needed composure. Her eyes noticed a ring; black and silver, a simple band.

"The ring on your right forefinger... were did it come from?" Rhoswen asked and met his gaze. He knew she was looking for an escape from the situation and so he gave it to her.

 **If things were different,** he thought **, I would not drop this so easily.**

Dagonet looked at the ring on his finger. He felt Rhoswen pull herself away from him and pick up her basket. She adjusted herself, brushing away the last of the tears from her cheek and chin. She stood up straight and composed herself as though a queen would; regal, strong, detached. However, he could still see the emotion hidden in her blue depths.

"It was my father's ring." Dagonet replied and examined the large ring on his forefinger. He touched it gently, turning it around on his finger. "His father's before him and so on."

"So someday, after you are freed from Roman rule, you shall pass it on to your son." Rhoswen guessed, feeling the conversation both awkward as well as reassuring. She chanced a glance at her own ring, thinking of her mother.

"Yes, I shall pass it down to my oldest son." Dagonet replied, looking at the ring on her right hand and watching her fuss with it. Rhoswen raised her eyes and met his stare.

"What if you only have daughters, great knight?" Rhoswen asked gently and tilted her head slightly to one side. The sunlight caught her, bouncing off her smooth skin and her hair.

 **A** **golden thread does not shine so lustrously as her hair does in the daylight –** Dagonet thought as he examined her. Rhoswen had expected a laugh, a chide, some snarky comment about how men always need a son, but it never came. He only stared at her, expression curious and made her uneasy. A good kind of uneasy.

"If I only have daughters," Dagonet's expression grew soft as his eyes lit up. His lips slowly curved up in the faintest of smiles, "Then I shall count myself incredibly lucky to be found so worthy of something so precious as a little girl."

Rhoswen and Dagonet stood in the garden a moment, quietly staring at each other as though lost in a silent conversation. Rhoswen slowly looked away and then met his gaze again as though she had something else she wanted to say. His words had somehow affected her more than she cared to admit. She was not used to such… pride? He spoke as though it would truly be an honor to have a daughter instead of a boy. But why?

"Why a daughter and not a son?" Rhoswen chewed on her cheek and waited for a response. Dagonet retrieved the wooden crate from where it still sat at his feet and walked passed her further into the garden. Rhoswen followed him with her eyes, watching him as he worked to remove the weeds and dead twigs from the plants. She slowly moved her way through the garden, beginning to pluck herbs, flowers, and berries to be crafted into workable medicines.

Every now and again she would looked up and spot Dagonet hard at work. He suddenly rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, seeing that the dirt was starting to climb his hands to his arms. He then went straight back to work, moving down the rows of plants. Rhoswen work hard as well, filling her basket to the brim. As she worked, something plagued her. Something Sorcha had said.

" _Like the great phoenix from the ashes, you will rise mighty. It is your birthright as bestowed upon you by your mother, whose ring you now wear in her honor._ "

What honor did she really bring her mother's memory? Celyne was strong where Rhoswen is weak. She was brave where her daughter is frightful. Resolute where Rhoswen wavers. Her mother took risks. She was stubborn, strong, a leader. Rhoswen was nothing like that. She hid in her healing house away from the world while claiming she did it for the good of her people. She had been like her mother. She had been **very** much like her until recently when things had turned for the worst with Marcellus. She had truly become that little bird that Sorcha nicknamed her. Her wings had been broken and she was afraid to fly again.

" _You are her daughter. Her only daughter. She was one of us and you should be too."_

"Sir Dagonet!" Rhoswen called out across the garden as she stood up from her place by a lavender bush. Dagonet stood up and searched for her visage among the flowers and plants. Rhoswen walked hurriedly to him and dropped her basket. She took his crate and dropped it beside the basket.

"What is happening?" Dagonet questioned, watching her carefully. She turned to walk away, but he caught hold of her hand gently. Realizing what he had done again, he released her. She stopped, looked back at him and tried her best and most convincing smile.

"There is somewhere else I think we should be." Rhoswen responded, knowing her smile was not completely believable.

"Is everything alright?" Dagonet pressed further, narrowing his eyes at her in question that demanded a serious answer.

"No, but they might be." She felt a spring of hope somewhere deep, deep within her. "I have one last thing to try before I completely give up."

"The Celestials?" Dagonet hoped she was going to try, really try. Sorcha had seemed so certain that she and the other Celestials could protect Rhoswen. He wanted it to be true. He wanted to give them a chance. He wanted Rhoswen to give them a chance. Rhoswen gave him a single nod and then picked up the bottom of her dress, hurrying through the garden with the knight behind her.

" _You are a phoenix."_

Sorcha's words reverberated in her head as she led Dagonet along behind her. She led him towards the cemetery that sat on the side of a hill behind the stone walls of the town. Dagonet said nothing, but took in the surroundings as he followed Rhoswen closely. She had led him to a building that had been crafted from thick, heavy stone that sat inlayed with intricate carvings.

"This is the Teach na Réaltaí." Rhoswen explained as they approached the heavy wooden doors. She placed a hand on one of the metal hoops that served as a doorknob. "The House of the Stars. The home of the Celestials."

Rhoswen tugged on the metal ring, opening the door to reveal darkness. The smell of incense wafted out, heavy and thick with sage and cinnamon. She looked back at Dagonet, seeing that he was slightly on edge. It was unusual for him. Normally she was the one on edge.

" _Only when you are ready, little bird, will you rise again."_

Rhoswen gave Dagonet a small smile and then looked back at the darkness. It was unsettling, but familiar.

"I grew up in this house along with the other Celestials. Our mothers bore us here together on the same night of the same month of the same year. There was no moon. Only stars watching us from above." Rhoswen offered the information freely to him. He watched her, curious as to her and the building. She was full of surprises. Rhoswen placed a hand on the stone, feeling the markings there. They were images of a starry night. "I crafted these. It took days chiseling them into the stone. My mother came back later and chiseled the bird. She always called me her little bird."

Dagonet could make out the small bird beneath the stars. Dagonet could tell now that she spoke to herself, reminded herself of this place and the memories it held; the importance behind it and what it had meant to herself so long ago.

"This was home." Rhoswen allowed her hand to fall. "Before Marcellus ruined it."

She closed her eyes and stood up straight, taking a deep breath. She released her pain, her worry, her fear in a heavy sigh and then walked into the dark. Dagonet looked around the surroundings of the strange building near the cemetery and then followed her into the darkness.


	13. All The Magic

As always everyone, if you have a suggestion or if something is amiss in my story-line, feel free to comment or send me a PM! Thanks all!

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}{-Milk and Honey-}{

~ Four Days Left: PART III ~

~ Teach na Réaltaí – House of the Stars ~

It was dark as he entered the House of the Stars. Rhoswen closed the door behind him, shutting out all perceptible light. The air was heavy with the smell of burning sage, cinnamon, and something sweet like lilac. Candles burned low where they sat on the walls, offering little light for the eyes to adapt to the environment.

Dagonet's hand instinctively came to rest on the hilt of his sword as he heard the shuffling of feet. A soft, warm hand gently rested on his exposed forearm; sleeves still rolled up from working the garden. His eyes caught sight of blonde hair and blue eyes that peered up at him through the darkness. The candle nearest them on the wall cast shadows on Rhoswen's face, only exposing half of it.

"Why is it so dark in here?" Dagonet asked quietly, relaxing at her touch. His muscles relaxed beneath his clothes and his hand slowly fell from the hilt of his sword.

"It is to help us with our ruminations and keeps us calm. It's to remind us of the night we were born beneath the stars." Rhoswen explained, knowing that it all must seem so strange to him; to anyone who ventured into the House. "Follow me, Sir Dagonet. This building is much larger inside and goes far deeper into the earth than it appears outside."

Rhoswen's words were soft and to Dagonet it felt as though she were afraid to wake some sleeping beast that lived deep within the darkness of the House. In response, he held his arm for her to take and she did so, curling her left arm around his right and letting her hand dangle over his forearm.

"This place…" Dagonet breathed out in a low voice as his eyes scanned the surroundings he could barely make out. Shadows played on the walls, catching images of beasts, real and mystical, and landscapes etched deeply into the stone.

"This place, the House of the Stars, was meant to be a maze to outsiders." Rhoswen responded instinctually to the tone of his voice, just as softly as before. "All these images, the low lighting, the smells… it was to make those who entered uneasy and befuddled."

"But why?" Dagonet questioned gently as he allowed her to lead him through the corridor that seemed to wind onwards forever. It felt as though they were following a tunnel into the very pit of the Otherworld itself.

"The House of the Stars is a sacred place, Sir Dagonet, only the Celestials and the Elders are allowed to be here. Every now and again, someone feeling brave after a long night of drink would enter the House. The smells, the etchings that seem to move on their own accord in the low light were all set in place to distress the intruder and deter them from entering further or ever again." Rhoswen stopped and pulled back from his arm, releasing it. She took a few steps back and dissolved into the shadows before Dagonet's eyes. Her voice came from the darkness, "It also added to the mystery that was the Celestials to the common folk and foreigners."

He heard shuffling from her dress as she moved about him in the shadows, hidden from his sight.

"We weren't also so much in the public eye, knight. Only recently since the Romans first appeared in our land." Her voice was soft as though melancholy had taken hold of her again. He sensed her stop behind him, feeling the warmth from her backside that faced his own. "The Celestials hid away here... in the shadows and behind the cloak of the cemetery and the woods where we were safe. From here, we ruminated on issues within the village; crafted antidotes for poisons while also fashioning the very poisons one sought salvation from; sought council with the stars and the great beings. We were both revered… and feared."

Her voice disappeared like a breath on the wind. Dagonet thought he felt something graze his arm and turned slowly, but saw nothing. Rhoswen moved closer again from the shadows, slowly, step by step until the candle light barley grazed her to his left.

"We were sought out for prophecy and magic mostly." Her voice echoed off the stone walls, soft and breathy. She appeared unearthly and bewitching as she stared at him through the dim light with her eyes that seemed to glow. Rhoswen took a step out from the darkness and smiled gently at him. "We do not really wield magic though, of course. Simple tricks of the senses and the confidence to make one believe they are feeling, seeing, hearing, smelling what we desire them to."

 **I would not say that –** Dagonet thought to himself as he stared down at the woman before him. The light of the candles cast shadows on her face that gave him reason to believe otherwise. The way she could disappear so completely into the shadows and how the light made her eyes glow… perhaps she did hold some kind of magic. The candle light flickered. One moment she appeared angelic and the next her features were twisted into some demonic thing as etchings on the wall behind her appeared.

"What are those?" Dagonet asked and moved closer to the wall, hand reaching out to drag across the images. His fingertips touched mangled limbs, teeth and snarling faces. These were creatures of nightmares, meant to frighten the bravest of men, who dared to enter.

"They are creatures from the Otherworld. They are meant to disorient those who feel brave enough to enter our keep. They protected us many times. But they are also meant to warn all of the mysteries of the Otherworld." She answered simply, recollecting about the different creatures she spotted. Her eyes scanned the images and she could almost hear them growling at her, snarling, snapping. While it made some uneasy, it comforted her. She had grown up with these beasts, had looked upon them each and every day. They were the protectors to her and the other girls. They were also reminders of what the Celestials were protecting the people from.

"Did Gallius explain to you all the legend behind the Celestials?" Rhoswen found herself asking. She wanted him to say no. She wanted to be the one to introduce him to this custom, her _heritage_.

"He spoke briefly and only told us what we needed to know." Dagonet replied, interested in her interpretation of her the Celestials and the mystery that surrounded them. He saw a small smile appear on her lips and a glint in her eyes. She moved closer to him and laced her arm with his, leading him further down the hallway.

"Supposedly, the Celestials were the first children born of the great goddess, Cosmina, who created the stars. Her daughters she plucked from the sky, her favorite stars brought to life for her to love and to watch grow on earth." Rhoswen's lips curled up slightly in a small, warm grin. "Seven girls born on the seventh day of the seventh month in the same year. Very rare. The common folk believed the first Celestials to have _unnatural_ powers. They performed rituals, blessings, attended births, attended deaths, crafted both poisons and antidotes, rode great war horses, wielded swords and bows. Both revered and feared, believed to have been paced on earth as guardians over the people."

Dagonet noticed the look on Rhoswen's face, one of both pride and idolization.

"My sisters and I are, based on legend, imbued with the souls of these first daughters, trained to fight and meant to protect the people of earth from these Otherworld beasts." Her hand came to rest on the image of a feline beast with snarling teeth and a claw raised to slash. Beside it was a woman with a sword in hand and raised up to smite the beast down.

"You have training with a sword?" Dagonet felt odd asking this, but it had peeked his curiosity. He had traveled to many places, few where women were trained in the art of war.

"Yes, but I'm terrible." Rhoswen looked up at him and gave a small laugh. "Serves me right though since I'm a healer. I want to save lives, not take them. Besides, Esme was always the fighter."

She turned forward again and continued to lead him down the hallway. He could not help but look over at her briefly, observing her. The legend behind the Celestials' birth, their mother goddess, the belief that these seven women were the souls of the first Celestials… it was fascinating and strange all at the same time. Though, looking at her now in the low light of the candles, the shadows playing at her features, the uneasy quiet of the House of the Stars, the very name of the House, and the smells in the air, all made it believable. It made it all… fuzzy.

Dagonet stared ahead again and watched as the corridor split into two before him and then merged back to one. His head felt a bit heavy and his eyes were feeling puffy.

"Do you feel alright?" Rhoswen asked, breaking him from his momentary blank stare. Rhoswen had stopped before him, placing a hand on his arm and staring up at him with slight worry. She placed a hand on his cheek and used her thumb to tug the bottom lid of his eye down so that she could examine him. "I apologize, Sir Dagonet. I am used to the herbs in the air. Poppy, we burn it among the incense. Not a lot. Just enough to create the visage of magic and put intruders in a dreamlike state. I did not think about how it may affect you. I assumed with your stature, you would overcome it."

He looked down the corridor, sniffing the air softly and catching the smell of the incense again. The poppy was there, but it was hidden well. Rhoswen released his eyelid, letting her hand fall to her side and looked him over again.

"I am alright, Lady Rhoswen." Dagonet replied and gave a slight bow of his head to solidify his answer. However, he did feel something. A warmth that was crawling over his skin with each inhalation he took of the sweet fragranced air.

"Just be careful. Do not breathe too deeply until we make it to the center. This place was built to wind and turn until one could not remember which way they had come from or which they were heading." Rhoswen looked him over again, worried that she had miscalculated completely. Rhoswen closed her eyes, took a deep breath of the scents and sighed. For her, it was so familiar. So, unsettling and yet calming at the same time. However, the poppy was stronger than she remembered it ever being.

Somewhere deep within the bellows of the house came chanting in soft, ghostlike voices that echoed and skewed internal direction even more. Dagonet's head perked up as he searched for the sources, but the shadows made deciphering anything impossible.

"What is that?" Dagonet questioned and turned his head to peer over his shoulder, feeling as though someone had been standing right behind him. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as his hand came to rest on the hilt of his sword once more. He turned back round and watched as Rhoswen continued ahead, moving gracefully among the low light like some otherworldly specter. She halted at a corner and looked back at him, hand placed gently on the stone wall.

 _"It is this way, knight."_ She gave him a small almost mischievous smile, eyes seeming to glow again behind her lashes. Her features were transforming in the dark as the candle flickered its dull light through the hall. He had not seen her act this way before; playful and mysterious. This must be the effect of the incense. Gods, they were making his head foggy and his eyes burn.

 _"Come Sarmatian."_ Rhoswen rounded the corner, dragging her hand along the wall as she disappeared into blackness. Dagonet was leery of this; the place, the situation, the sensation that ran through his spine. It felt... ethereal as though he was passing through a dream or the Otherworld itself. Hairs stood up on the back of his neck, his arms.

 **She claims to have no magic** – Dagonet thought to himself – **yet, what would one call the hold she has over me now?**

Rhoswen watched Dagonet carefully from where she stood beside him. She watched him carefully as he searched in the darkness for some unknown specter. She looked down the corridor where it turned and then looked back at him.

"Dagonet? Are you alright?" Rhoswen asked gently, realizing too late that the poppy was severely affecting him. His mind was clouded and his movements expressed this.

"Rhoswen?" Dagonet asked as he walked away and rounded the corner to find that she had disappeared. But she hadn't. She stood in her spot where he had left her side and watched him in his state.

The voices from somewhere deep in the building crept up on him, making him spin around to try and find their source. He was alone though in the corridor. The candle on the wall flickered beside him in its lowering state, wick almost too low to burn at all. Wax had melted, spilled over and down the candle labra on the wall.

 _"Dagonet…"_ The voice caught his ear and he spun round once more in the direction Rhoswen had gone down the dark corridor. It belonged to her, but it sounded so far away like a breath on the wind.

"Dagonet." Rhoswen walked up from behind him, slightly intrigued by his reaction to the poppy while also worried. She peered around him down the dark corridor. "What are you looking for?"

"Rhoswen?" Dagonet questioned back and followed the corridor further. He blinked and then blinked again as his eyes began to blur. A shadow darted passed him on the right in a full-length dress, heading back towards the darkness that seemed to creep up on him.

"Rhoswen?" Dagonet called out again as he noticed how the candles burned so low that they almost appeared to have died out within an instant.

"Sir Dagonet, maybe we should turn back. You do not look well." Rhoswen suggested and stayed back a few feet from him. She worried how else the poppy might affect him; perhaps violently? Dagonet said nothing in response to her. He was lost to his own delusions brought on by the incense. She took another step back from him, seeing his body tense.

 _"Dagonet…"_ The voice came again from the darkness this time behind him. Dagonet stood his ground and gripped the hilt of his sword. His eyes searched the darkness for a sign of Rhoswen, but there was none. After all… she had gone _ahead_ of him, yes? How could she have gotten behind him?

The sound of something metal clattered to the stone floor. Slowly, they scrapped against the stone and echoed through the corridor. Dagonet pulled his sword slightly from the sheath on his hip, standing at the ready. The sound continued, but nothing appeared before him in the darkness.

Something was wrong.

This was all wrong.

He had stepped into the House of the Stars, the home of the Celestials, with Rhoswen, but he had somehow wandered through a veil. A spell, an enchantment, something had done this to him some _one_. Rhoswen claimed that she had no magic, no powers, but…

A scream rang out from the darkness before him and sent chills down his spine.

"Rhoswen!" Dagonet shouted, withdrawing his sword fully as a switch was flicked in his mind. It was **her** screams from the darkness. He knew it. He felt it. "Rhoswen!"

Dagonet charged without a second thought into the pitch blackness before him with sword at the ready.

"Sir Dagonet!" Rhoswen chased after him, fully afraid he may hurt himself or one of her sisters within the House of the Stars.

Dagonet skidded to a halt. Nothing was there, but he could not be sure. It was so dark. So incredibly, disconcertingly dark and his vision was so very blurry. He could hear the scrapping metal on stone, but he could not tell where it was coming from.

Was it ahead?

Behind?

Or was it something more sinister with ways in which to climb the walls?

What was this place Rhoswen had brought him to?

" _Dagonet! Help me!"_ The phantom Rhoswen's cry echoed through the corridor from ahead. Dagonet took flight and hurried, heavy booted footfalls hitting the stone floor with hard a _wad-thump, wad-thump, wad-thump_.

Rhoswen followed closely behind him. What could she do except let him ride out his delusion? She could not take him down on her own. She had no tonics or antidotes with her.

"Rhoswen?!" Dagonet called out and halted, unable to see through the dark. He turned around slowly, listening carefully. He heard nothing except silence. Slowly, as though growing louder in his own ear, was the sound of his heavy, husky breathing.

" _Dagonet! Where are you?!"_ The phantom Rhoswen called out, this time from behind him. Dagonet spun around, but did not move. He took a fighting stance and solidified himself in the corridor. More of the clanging, scrapping metallic sounds echoed.

 **Devils –** Dagonet thought to himself as he bounced gently to keep himself ready to spring if need be **– Rhoswen was a head of me… now her voice sounds from behind. There must be devils in this place; mimicking her, distracting me.**

Dagonet heard footsteps; lighter than his own and padded. Leathered perhaps? They came from ahead in the corridor, in the unrelenting darkness.

"Dagonet, calm down. It is the herbs, the poppy. It has you tricked." Rhoswen moved closer slowly with her hands outstretched before her as though approaching a wounded animal. "It is making you see things that are not there."

"Come on! Face me!" Dagonet called out as he crouched, held his sword up and to his right side as he waited for the source of the disturbance. Rhoswen heard no other voice, no other movement, nothing at all other than the sound of Dagonet's voice and his breathing. Feeling she needed to approach him, get his sword from him, she slid a hand up the base of her dress and felt for the dagger that always sat attached on her thigh. She freed it, held the bone-crafted handle so the blade was horizontal to her and out to the right.

"Sir Dagonet?" Rhoswen tried again, but it startled him. Dagonet spun round, sword slicing through the air. Rhoswen ducked, falling back and onto her bottom. Her dagger hit the floor with a resounding _clang_ and spun thrice away from her. Rhoswen scuttled back on her hands like a crab as Dagonet swung his sword again, blade meeting the unforgiving stone floor.

"Sir Dagonet! Stop!" Rhoswen felt fear spring up within her, watching the giant of a man swing his sword at her with no recollection of who she was. The shadows from the lights played on his face and distorted his warm features, making them cold and frightening. "Dagonet!"

"Shadow devils!" Dagonet's voice was gruff and deep. Rhoswen took quick notice to his eyes, seeing they were completely red and the area around them puffy. He perspired more so than he should in the comfortable corridor and his movements were lazy as though his muscles were too heavy to wield.

"Sir Dagonet! There are no devils here!" Rhoswen shouted and clambered backwards again down the corridor to put space between them. He was much more affected by the poppy then she would have ever of suspected. "The herbs have gone to your head! It's the poppy!"

Dagonet shook his head as though being bothered by some small fluttering creature before his face and then swung his sword again. Rhoswen fell backwards, lying herself flat on the ground as the great sword sailed over her and collided with the wall.

Rhoswen rolled onto her belly, swung her leg out and took Dagonet's out from under him. He fell to the floor and his sword slid away with an awful scrapping that echoed, she was sure, throughout the whole establishment. Rhoswen hurried to her feet and took a defensive stance, but knew that if he were to come at her that she would not have a chance against his raw might.

"Sir Dagonet, please. Tis me. It's Rhoswen." Rhoswen tried to settle her voice, bring it to a lower volume; calming the feverish great bear. He clambered onto a knee before her and wiped his burning eyes. They teared and stung so fiercely that they were making his face red and swollen.

"Dagonet," Rhoswen took a steady step closer as he rose to his feet, "It's Rhoswen. Please, let me help. The incense; they are too strong and have gone to your head. You are reacting to them poorly."

Dagonet said nothing, but grumbled and rubbed at his face that Rhoswen could clearly see in the dimly lit corridor was flushed and blotchy.

"You are having a reaction. Something sits poorly with you." Rhoswen did not hesitate and took a step closer, closing the gap between them. She placed a hand to his face and felt the fever, the burning flesh. Dagonet grabbed her hands harshly, but firmly and held them between their bodies. He jerked her closer, nearly chest to chest and stared down at her through blurry eyes.

"You are not a shadow devil." Dagonet breathed out, but still held her hands firmly. "I know your face."

"I am Lady Rhoswen. The healer you have been aiding the last week." Rhoswen tried to keep her voice steady, but he was making her nervous. She trusted this knight, but she did not trust him in this state. The herbs were playing games with his mind, his eyes, as they were meant to. It made him unpredictable though.

"I know your face." Dagonet repeated, eyes darting left and right as though desperately trying to piece together her image. He twisted his hands and grabbed hold of both of hers firmly in one great paw. His other hand came to rest against her face, hot and large against her skin. "Rhoswen."

Rhoswen watched as his eyes began to roll into the back of his head. She felt his weight on her before she could react and all she could do was hold his head to her chest as they clattered to the hard stone floor. Dagonet landed on top of her, head in her bosom and body splayed limply over her.

"Help! Sorcha! Esme! Help!" Rhoswen screamed out, voice echoing through the corridor. She heard nothing and retched herself out from under the great man. She looped her arms beneath his, lacing her fingers across his chest and tried to pull him with all her strength. She was no slender thing, no weak-limbed maiden, but he was a massive bear of a man with more muscles than a prized bull. She tried though. She dragged him, face going red and arms feeling as though they may tear away from her body at any moment.

"Sorcha! Esme! I need help!" Rhoswen screamed out again as loudly as she could. She felt her leather sandaled feet slip against the stone and she clattered to her bottom. Using the strength of her legs she pushed off the floor and pulled Dagonet back onto her chest, sliding out from under him and repeating the tenuous process again.

"Rhoswen!" Voices and footsteps raced down the hallway with the familiar sound of clanking swords on hips. Rhoswen looked back as she fell to the floor again and spotted two familiar figures.

"Galahad! Gawain! Please, I need your help!" Rhoswen shouted at them and released her hold on Dagonet, gently lowering him to the ground. Gawain and Galahad were at their brother's side in a moment, looking over his visage.

"What happened to him?" Galahad questioned pointedly. "What did you do?"

"I promise I did naught. It is the incense. They are too strong for him. He's having a bad reaction." Rhoswen replied, breath ragged and labored. She stared down at Dagonet and placed a hand to his face, feeling the heat from his skin. She watched his breath, chest rising and falling quickly. She looked back at Galahad, who did not seem to trust her and then to Gawain. "Please, I swear on my life I did nothing to cause this, but I can help him. I just cannot carry him. He's too heavy for me."

Gawain stared at her a moment longer and then looked to Galahad, who was not buying her explanations.

"You get his feet, Galahad. I'll get him a the shoulders." Gawain directed and grabbed hold of Dagonet's upper half.

"You believe the crock she's feeding us?" Galahad gaped.

"We have no reason not to. What would make you believe she did something to him? She is Gallius' sister and Dagonet trusts her." Gawain argued back with disbelief. "No get his bloody legs!"

Galahad moved to Dagonet's feet and on the count of three they lifted him haphazardly. Shuffling backwards, Gawain and Galahad carried Dagonet down the corridor they had come from hurriedly with Rhoswen following close behind.


End file.
